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The Society Wolf 

*By LUKE THRICE 



ILLUSTRATED BY 
W. H. LOOMIS 

AX D— — ~ 

MODEST STEIN 


NEW YORK 

CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 




Copyright, 1910, by 

THE NEW YORK HERALD COMPANY 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


©CI.A259494 




“to WHAT AM I INDEBTED FOR THIS ENTHUSIASTIC RECEPTION ?” 

— Page 18 . 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. PAGE 

I The Neophyte in Fifth Avenue i 

II Plucking a Brand 20 

III A Squire of Dames 35 

IV Matter of Friendship 51 

V A Freebooter’s Prize 67 

VI A Reverse on the Market 83 

VII A Suffixed Victory too 

VIII A Cutlass in Hand 115 

IX A Profit in Hearts 132 

X A Court Card 148 

XI An Educational Incident 164 

XII A Volunteer Garrison 180 

XIII A Flank Attack 195 

XIV An Ambuscade 212 

XV A Sharp Rally 228 

XVI A Wayside Adventure 244 

XVII A Count or Two 262 

XVIII A Closed Door 278 

XIX A Measure of Success 290 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


CHAPTER I 

THE NEOPHYTE IN FIFTH AVENUE 

The chance, the chance was what he lacked — the 
opening through which he might see the first steps 
of his way, however intricate it might thereafter be- 
come, toward his ambition. He started up from his 
little iron bedstead and paced the strip of bare, straw 
matting between the one window and the door. He 
stopped suddenly before the square of defective mir- 
ror under the whistling gas jet and took intensive 
counsel with his own reflection. 

Beyond and about echoed the grim roar of the city, 
bound stupidly, unceasingly, to its drudging tasks. 
Out there the dull thousands toiled their wearying 
round in hopeless monotony of unremitting effort. 
The hum of their activities had not hushed with this 
late winter evening — would not hush for many hours. 
They angered him, these patient, dogged workers — 
angered him and amused him. They were gulls, these 
city folk, toilers and idlers alike, in fustian or purple 
— all gulls, flouted and exploited at every turn by 
l 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


men with a little wit. Whether beggar or million- 
aire, each could be overreached, made to contribute 
to the ease and support of the one who knew how to 
use him. 

Why should he not swim the golden tide? Others 
had done it, were doing it, with not half the buoy- 
ancy that was his through native shrewdness of in- 
tellect and keenness of perception. But the chance, 
the chance — perhaps it lay to his hand and he was 
blind to just the one thing essential in launching him. 

Robert Carter, in spite of the disfiguring glass, 
found himself good to look upon according to all 
outward qualifications, with the immense inward con- 
fidence he felt in his ability. He was young, tall, 
well formed, strongly featured, with rather full lips, 
a fresh skin, light brown eyes and wavy black hair. 
There was no flaw upon him. He took note of him- 
self approvingly, remarking how well the new, fash- 
ionably tailored suit that had been one of his first 
extravagances set to his figure, how gracefully he bore 
himself. 

A month before Robert Carter had left his native 
town in Prince William County, Virginia, to join issue 
with the city — a country boy, faced determinedly to- 
ward wealth and position. But his purpose held no 
thought of laborious ascent upon the commercial 
plane. He had not ventured the metropolitan field 
to make his way through some humble, painful proc- 
ess. He had a fixed idea, and it was not wrapped 
about himself in the role of errand boy, rising 
through traditional degrees of clerk and bookkeeper. 


THE NEOPHYTE IN FIFTH AVENUE 3 

Robert Carter had developed a degree of cynicism 
that would have fitted a city bred roue. A twist of 
nature and a double twist of circumstance had aided 
him. He had penetrated the sham and artificiality 
of the gilded show upon New York’s upper strata 
through instinct and the schooling of a broken society 
idol who had passed a summer near his home. And 
in penetrating he had learned to admire. These 
puppets and the lives they led had gripped him. He 
felt himself to be a man of cleverness, of superior 
mentality, too wise to waste himself upon actual labor 
of any kind. He would make himself a place on those 
heights. He would live on and in those chosen fields. 
Here was the place for any man whose wits could 
work for him and maintain him in scented ease. Here 
were the real “Rubes,” and Robert Carter was the 
man who could use them. 

He had taken a modest room in an unpretentious 
quarter on reaching the city. His original capital 
had been $500, carefully laid by during his months 
of planning. He found himself now, having pur- 
chased the necessary outfit of clothes, uncomfortably 
near the apparent end. And he still lacked the chance 
— the chance. 

Robert Carter turned from retrospect to action. 
Time for his regular campaign had arrived. He 
dressed himself in evening clothes, his habiliments of 
war, to which he had grown fairly well accustomed 
during his first weeks of apprenticeship. He threw 
on a light black coat, took his silk hat and cane and 
set out for the present field of combat, the lobbies 


4 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


of the big hotels, where night after night, high and 
low, he sought his opening. 

He found the porphyry and gold cafe of the Em- 
press nearly empty when he strolled in and ordered 
a drink. While sipping at a table he ran over the 
evening papers, for he was alive to the possibilities 
that they might hold for him and they served him 
daily as text books. As he read the place began to 
fill. Groups clustered about the columns and a low 
buzz of conversation sounded pleasantly. He gave 
ear to it subconsciously as he ran over the sheets. 
Then, from a little way back of him, he caught the 
trailing fragment of a jocund exclamation. 

“Not with Jimmy Hope — you can’t mean it?” 

The words ran into a cackle of mirth, the laugh 
of callow youth. They fell softly upon the listener’s 
auditory nerve. Jimmy Hope, as he knew and as 
any reader of the dailies would have known, was 
very much before the public just then. The scion of 
a family of first prominence, he had recently accom- 
plished the frittering of an enormous grand-parental 
fortune, finishing a dispersal well begun by his father 
before him during the brief years when that gentle- 
man had held it. His recent blazes of extravagance 
and scandal had been the talk of all those thorough- 
fares that have acquired a kind of personality, from 
Fourteenth Street to upper Fifth Avenue. 

Carter cast a casual backward glance. Three 
tables from him sat two young men, instantly dis- 
tinguished by garb and manner as members of a 
fashionable and wealthy set. The gestures of the 


THE NEOPHYTE IN FIFTH AVENUE, 5 

one who was speaking flashed the intelligence to 
Carter that the waiter had made many trips that eve- 
ning to supply their orders. 

“That is absolutely the rummiest ” Again it 

was the undisciplined laugh of the one whose for- 
mer exclamation Carter had overheard. Apparently 
the other, who spoke in lower tones, was unfolding 
a wondrous matter. Alert to seize upon anything 
that had to do with the life he had faced himself 
to learn and ultimately to enter, Carter leaned back 
carelessly and made a shield between himself and 
the clatter of the bar with his outspread newspaper. 

^Hachit from Jimmy himself, I tell you.” Now it 
was the other he heard. “Met him this afternoon at 
Mme. Durand’s. I’ve let three other fellows in on it, 
her brother, Scofield and Stuyver. I’m telling you 
because we want you to help, to take charge of part 
of the arrangements. No, you can’t have another. 
Finish what you have. We’ve got to be moving 
soon.” 

“But how did he fix it? I never gave him credit 
for so much sense. They watch her devilish close,” 
said the other. 

“At the riding academy. Jimmy met her there 
this winter, and she didn’t know who he was for 
weeks, not until he’d made his impression. She’s a 
romantic thing. When she finally found out and got 
a whiff of his rep. she rather balked; but by that 
time Jim had started a regular interchange of notes 
with her through a groom. You remember how he 
could dash off the comic verses at college. Killing, 


6 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


weren’t they? Well, he turned that talent to good 
account, wrote her no end of moving notes about 
how he was being hounded, persecuted and misunder- 
stood. Said he had reformed since knowing her, and 
would she go back on him ? Did the sentimental and 
woebegone, and she fell for it. A Hoboken J. P. 
would have done the trick at just about half-past ten 
to-night, if he hadn’t told me. I owe him a grudge 
over that Tinfield affair, and so do you. We get a 
chance to save a decent girl from a scamp, too, and 
maybe her brother isn’t grateful.” 

Robert Carter was aware of a little quiver of ex- 
citement as the voice was drowned in a glass to the 
accompaniment of chuckles from the other. Jimmy 
Hope, the spendthrift, broken in fortune and utterly 
blown upon, so that his fine old name remained his 
only claim to social recognition, was about to re- 
trieve all by a wedding, an elopement. Here was 
inside information of a rare kind. But who was the 
girl? The cautious conversation was resumed *and 
he listened eagerly. 

“Hot luck for Jimmy. Perhaps he can get that 
album with the thousand chorus girl autographs out 
of hock now, and the portieres made of champagne 
corks that he earned in a week. There ought to be 
loud rejoicing on the trail when he squares his 
debts.” Thus the callow youth. 

“But you don’t get the idea. Pie’s net going to 
get away with it. She lacks a week of being eighteen 
and she’ll have about six millions from her mother’s 
estate. Do you think we could stand to see that go 


THE NEOPHYTE IN FIFTH AVENUE 7 

to Jimmy Hope? Wake up, man, we’re going to 
head him off.” 

“Huh, that’s easy enough. Why don’t you go to 
old Woodbine himself? He’d stop it quick enough.” 

“What a featherhead you are! Of course he 
would. But we’re going to let them get just far 
enough to compromise her, don’t you see? Her 
brother made the plan. He knows that if they took 
her off to Newport or locked her up she’d dream 
about Jimmy and think a hundred times more of 
him. And when she came of age she’d just galli- 
vant off with him anyhow. You know what her 
brother always used to say about me at college ” 

The words sank to sibilants. Carter, tense to catch 
the drift, feared that after all some vital part of the 
affair was escaping him. Finally he heard: 

“She’s got some sense and she’ll see there’s only 
one way to set herself right. Are you friend enough 
of mine to stand with us?” 

“You bet I am. Count on me,” said the callow 
one, and the two, somewhat unsteady on their legs, 
but still quite able to take care of themselves, set- 
tled their score and hurried into the corridor. 

It had come — that chance. Carter felt a tingling 
flush upon his face as he gathered the significance 
of this thing and set it up before him. The girl 
was Miss Woodbine, daughter of the great railroad 
king. He knew the imposing gray stone house, with 
its haughty, almost fortresslike, fence on the Fifth 
Avenue corner. He pictured that stern, hard man 
and the gratitude he would show to the person who 


8 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


should warn him of the impending alliance with the 
notorious Jimmy Hope. For a moment he considered 
that move, then rejected it utterly. There was a 
better way. 

He glanced at the clock — a quarter to nine. The 
young fellow had said that Hope planned to be mar- 
ried in Hoboken at half-past ten. He paid his bill 
and made for the street, buttoning his thin evening 
coat about him. It was raw and foggy and damp, 
with the bite of late February. 

He formed the germ of a plan as he strode up the 
avenue, but he saw that he would have to seize the 
situation as it was presented, since he had little 
more than an inkling of the plans of the conspira- 
tors. One decision he had made already, and that 
was to help Jimmy Hope. It might not be a happy 
marriage, perhaps, but here was the opportunity to 
obtain a powerful friend in making himself the fac- 
tor which would render the marriage possible. He 
could not have wished a better man than Hope to 
acquire a hold upon. For the rest, worse men than 
Hope have been reformed by adoring wives. 

Not that he dwelt particularly upon the moral re- 
sults of his contemplated action. What he saw most 
clearly was that Hope was a weak character, amen- 
able to influence, a perfect stepping stone for his 
uses if the proper strings were tied to him. But 
Jimmy Hope penniless would be of little value. It 
was Jimmy Hope with the Woodbine millions to 
make him a social power who could be of assistance 
to him. Let him grapple this young man to him 


THE NEOPHYTE IN FIFTH AVENUE 9 

with hooks of obligation and he would have accom- 
plished the most difficult part of his task. He would 
have taken the first step toward his ambition. 

Approaching the Woodbine house he sauntered, 
keeping sharp watch upon both sides of the avenue. 
Directly opposite he noticed a dim, motionless figure. 
The lower part of the house was dark. Lights 
showed at three of the upper windows. Evidently 
the elopers had chosen a time when other members 
of the family were away. He turned the corner into 
the side street and continued to the end of the block, 
then across to the other pavement and back again. 
There was a side entrance, and it occurred to him 
that the girl probably would leave by that. In any 
|:case he must watch from an angle that would com- 
Imand both doors. He crossed Fifth Avenue and took 
[up his position at a point diagonal to the Woodbine 
mansion. 

It was chilly, but when he hugged himself in his 
coat it was more the result of excitement than of the 
damp wdnd. A Holmes officer passed and glanced at 
him curiously. He unbuttoned his coat and looked 
at his watch in the light of the arc lamp. The officer, 
reassured by that flash of conventional shirt bosom, 
resumed his way. A quarter after nine — nearly time 
for something to happen, he thought. Beyond the 
downtown corner the shadowy figure was still stand- 
ing, facing the front door of the house. Evidently 
the conspirators had their watcher on the ground. 

Down the side street he caught the glare of two 
head lamps, reflecting along the wet asphalt. The 


10 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


grinding check of a gasolene engine sounded and 
ceased. An automobile had halted at the end of the 
block, near the Madison Avenue corner and on the 
side toward the Woodbine house. Carter waited a 
moment to see whether the watcher made a move. 
Apparently he had not heard and could not see the 
machine. The Virginian moved slowly toward Madi- 
son Avenue. 

The automobile was an ordinary affair, apparently 
hired from a garage. The rubber coated driver had 
left his seat and was tinkering at the further side 
of the hood. Carter drew nearer the curb as he came 
along and obtained one swift, sure glimpse of the 
interior of the limousine. It showed Jimmy Hope, 
sitting on the edge of the seat and peering through 
the forward glass in the direction of the Woodbine 
house. He had seen the thin, dissipation weakened 
face too often in the newspapers to mistake it. He 
glanced toward the chauffeur and saw that the man 
had not noticed him; then took the situation two- 
handed, slid up beside the door and opened it half a 
foot. 

Hope jumped nervously back into a corner with 
a startled exclamation as Carter thrust his head boldly 
within. 

“Pardon me, Mr. Hope,” said the Virginian, 
rather at a loss as to how to begin. “I should not 
intrude if this were not a very serious matter.” 

“Go away, please go away,” pleaded Hope in- 
coherently. And then, probably from force of habit, 
“I haven’t anything for you.” 


THE NEOPHYTE IN FIFTH AVENUE 11 


In spite of the tension Carter smiled at the word. 
The man before him was so obviously helpless, so 
pitifully incapable of grasp and management. But 
every minute counted now. The conspirators might 
start the wheels of their plan, whatever it was, be- 
fore he could get a grip on this weakling. 

“Listen,” he said sharply. “Some of your good 
friends to whom you confided your plans have fixed 
a scheme to head you off. Please understand me. 
Miss Woodbine’s brother knows all about it and he’s 
got others to help him. I don’t know their names, 
except that two are Scofield and Stuyver. Don’t 
waste time asking questions. Do what I say. I’m 
playing on your side.” 

Hope moved toward him, seeking to make out his 
face. Carter saw his purpose and moved so that a 
ray from the corner lamp fell athwart his face. It 
was well that the man should have his image fixed 
clearly. 

“No, you don’t know me,” he said, anticipating 
Hope’s objection. “My name is Robert Carter. Re- 
member that when this is over. You can have the 
girl as you have planned if you follow my advice. 
Otherwise you’ve gone to smash, for I tell you by 
some means these friends of yours will get you and 
Miss Woodbine in a situation that will turn her 
against you. She is to be compromised and then they 
are to offer her an alternative.” 

Hope seemed to recover some hold upon himself 
under the torrent of crisp, startling phrases. 

“How do you know?” he cried. 


12 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“Never mind. The point is, will you do as I tell 
you?” 

The decisive utterance of the Virginian, as well as 
the extraordinary fact that he seemed to be in touch 
with the whole plan, won the waverer over. 

“Yes, I will,” he said. “If things are as you say 
I have no choice.” 

“And that’s the truest w T ord of your life,” answered 
Carter. “Now, the house is watched. Slip out of 
here and get off as fast as you can to the nearest cab 
stand or stable. Hire a hansom. Drive back here. 
I’ll hold the machine with Miss Woodbine in it until 
I see you coming. Then I’ll start off for the ferry. 
For the rest, have your driver keep close behind us 
and look alive for surprises. Is the chauffeur paid?” 

“Yes,” said the other, “I gave him $50 for this 
trip. And he’s a trusty man.” 

Hope had some qualities after all, some lingering 
strain of the iron blood that had made his grand- 
father one of the terrors of the market. He shook 
Carter’s hand once, stepped quietly through the door 
and, looking more a man, vanished eastward. Softly, 
so that the chauffeur’s attention might not be at- 
tracted, Carter took his place on the cushions, closed 
the door and waited. 

When he had almost begun to fear that there had 
been some premature interference he caught sight 
of a splotch of white against the vague black wall 
of the Woodbine house. The next instant a figure 
detached itself from the darkness and moved swiftly 
toward him. The chauffeur, who had finished his 


THE NEOPHYTE IN FIFTH AVENUE 13 

work about the engine, twirled the crank and sprang 
into his seat. Carter, pulling his hat forward and 
sitting in the shadow of the corner, opened the door 
and held it there with one hand. 

Within the faint, yellow rays of the automobile’s 
lamp appeared a dainty picture of a girl, a flying 
scarf tied beneath her chin, a small leather bag in 
her hand. She bent one backward look toward the 
home she was leaving, hesitated a second and stepped 
lightly into the limousine. Carter drew the door with 
a slam — there was no call for secrecy now — and the 
chauffeur threw on the power. The automobile shot 
west. 

Halfway down the block to Sixth Avenue Carter 
pressed a buzzer and the machine came to a slow halt 
beside the right curb. There came a low exclamation 
from the shadow into which the girl had pressed, and 
Carter knew that the time for another explanation 
was at hand. She must have seen his face as he 
reached for the button. 

“Kindly believe me when I say there is no cause 
for alarm,” he said gently. “Mr. Hope will be here 
directly.” 

“Who are you?” 

There was a challenge in the tone. Instinctively 
the Virginian felt that here he had to deal with a 
very different character from that of Hope. He saw 
a firmer hand upon the matrimonial helm than that 
of the spendthrift, if the present project succeeded. 
Here and now he must win over this half of the part- 
nership if he expected ever to profit by his interfer- 


u 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


ence in the affair. With the instinctive talent for 
doing the right thing which stood him so well on 
later battle fields of his career he threw off the cloak. 

“You have a right to know,” he said. “I am Rob- 
ert Carter, little known in New York, a stranger to 
Mr. Hope. I am, if you like, an adventurer. I came 
here for reasons personal and of interest only to my- 
self. To-night I have an opportunity for which I 
have long been waiting. I overheard a plot to block 
your elopement and to disgrace and humiliate your- 
self and Mr. Hope. I am trying to help you. In 
this I am counting upon your common sense, and, in 
some part, to be quite frank, upon your gratitude. 
Judge if I have a right to it.” 

He then told her, in rather distorted outline, the 
substance of the scheme on foot, making it appear 
that it rested upon manufactured evidence against 
her lover which they were to present to her in some 
way he could not foresee. She heard him in silence. 
There was a pause at the end while he looked 
through the small rear window. 

Presently she said in a quiet voice : “If what you 
have told me is true you will find that I have a mem- 
ory, Mr. Carter.” 

From over east came the rattle of hoofs and a han- 
som swung into view, a white bosomed figure swaying 
on the seat. Carter pressed the buzzer again and 
the machine darted forward. From his post of ob- 
servation at the little window he exclaimed: 

“I thought so. We have been under observation 
since you left the house. Probably they are waiting 


THE NEOPHYTE IN FIFTH AVENUE 15 


around the corner until we should be well under way. 
There they come now, in a big black limousine car. 
I was right in not letting you slip away to some hotel 
to meet him.” 

A powerful machine had crept up behind the pro- 
cession made by their own automobile and Hope’s 
cab, which trailed close behind, in accordance with 
the plan. They crossed Sixth Avenue without a halt. 
Carter measured the distance between the parts of his 
problem with the eye of a general, keeping careful 
watch on the shifting traffic for some maneuver, the 
broad plan for which had formed in his mind. 
Seventh Avenue was left behind. Broadway was 
crowded and Carter had almost started to swing the 
girl out and into a car when he saw the pursuers must 
surely see them. Eighth Avenue lay behind them, 
and still the three vehicles kept their single file. Time 
was getting short. Carter rapidly explained to the 
girl what she must do if an opportunity came for her 
to slip out without him. 

Approaching Ninth Avenue the Virginian, ever 
alert, glimpsed a street car coming from either di- 
rection. He pressed the buzzer three times and the 
chauffeur, understanding the signal, threw over his 
lever. Their machine leaped forward. 

He saw the coachman on the hansom lash his horse, 
Hope waving up at him. The black automobile was 
about thirty feet behind the cab. The two street cars 
were almost upon Carter’s machine when it dashed 
through the gap between them, the cab following 
recklessly hard after. It seemed as if Hope’s vehicle 


16 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


must Inevitably be crushed. There were shouts. 
Carter had a confused impression of clanging gongs 
and bent figures twirling madly at brakes. Then he 
realized that his machine and the cab had managed, 
in some miraculous way, to win free of both street 
cars, which had come to a halt and were blocking the 
black automobile like a barrier along the tracks. He 
punched the buzzer, holding it until the machine 
ground to a jerking stop. The situation could 
scarcely last the fraction of a second longer. 

He tore open the door. 

“Out, quick!” he cried, in an agony of suspense. 

The girl seized his meaning on the wing and float- 
ed, rather than jumped, to the muddy street. 
Carter, giving the signal to proceed, closed the door 
and looked around just in time to see a white gowned 
figure vanish into the cab which instantly swung north. 
He remained staring through his peep hole until the 
cars moved on. As they cleared the crossing the 
black automobile leaped from the other side. It did 
not turn into the avenue after the cab, but bore on 
after him. 

He had won. 

With smiling elation and some curiosity he now 
looked forward to falling into the trap which had 
been so carefully prepared for Jimmy Hope. He had 
some hint of it when his machine was driven on to 
the ferryboat. Approaching the ferry house he 
noticed four four-wheelers, with drawn shades, 
standing at one side in line. Two of these whipped 
on board ahead of him. The other two waited for 


THE NEOPHYTE IN FIFTH AVENUE IT 


the black automobile to pass and then followed it. 
Here was an elaborate something hatching, with 
plenty of actors on hand by all appearances. The 
six vehicles, carriages, automobiles and carriages 
again, took up all the right hand alley of the boat. 
It was well planned, whatever it meant. His machine 
was w T ell toward the center and privacy was assured. 

The curtain on the little drama rose in midstream. 
He saw a door of one of the four-wheelers ahead 
open and a woman alight therefrom. She was closely 
followed by another. A similar phenomenon was 
visible from the rear window. He heard the rustling 
of silks outside the limousine. Then came a low, 
thrilling whisper: 

“Jimmyboy, Jimmyboy.” 

Leaning forward cautiously he could make out in 
the dim light that four flashily dressed women stood 
near the right hand door of his machine and two 
near the other. Here was a denouement! The 
whisper came again : 

“We’re all here, Jimmyboy. Flora and Prudence 
and Estelle and the rest. Won’t you let us in, Jim- 
myboy?” 

From the direction of the black automobile came a 
group of long coated, silk hatted men. One of them 
threw the right hand door open. 

“It’s all up, Helen,” said a sharp voice. “Leave 
that worthless scoundrel to the women he has sup- 
ported, and thank your brother for getting you out of 
an ugly scrape. Come.” 

Robert Carter straightened his tie, opened his coat, 


18 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


removed his silk hat and stepped out of the cavern of 
the limousine to where the light of the automobile 
lamp fell full upon him. 

“To what am I indebted for this enthusiastic re- 
ception?” he asked pleasantly of the staring men and 
women. The man at the door knob rapped out a 
sharp word of anger and thrust himself half way into 
the limousine with groping arm. 

“Where’s my sister?” he yelled, popping out and 
thrusting a convulsed face at Carter. That calm 
young man regarded him with frank curiosity. His 
one regret at that moment was that he lacked a mon- 
ocle. 

“Really, my dear sir,” he drawled. “Your sister? 
Have you lost her?” 

Young Woodbine was exasperated to the point of 
frenzy. He glared and waved his arms. 

“Where is she? She got into this machine. What 
have you done with her?” 

Carter smiled tolerantly. 

“If any of you are in charge of this gentleman,” 
he said, addressing the transfixed group, “I would 
like to ask if he is frequently affected so severely. I 
have not the pleasure of your acquaintance, ladies,” 
with a bow, “but I can imagine how painful this must 
be. You have my deepest sympathy.” 

Woodbine, feeling the ridiculous figure he cut, 
made a last attempt. He turned to the chauffeur, 
who had been a silent, if interested, spectator. 

“Didn’t you just come from Fifth Avenue and 


THE NEOPHYTE IN FIFTH AVENUE 19 


th Street? Didn’t a young woman get into your 

machine there? Didn’t Jimmy Hope hire you?” 

The chauffeur grinned impartially upon the gath- 
ering, then settled a dancing Irish eye upon Robert 
Carter. 

“Th’ gentleman is sure took bad, sir,” he re- 
marked, and Carter thanked his gods that it should 
have been such a man. They shook hands upon it 
after the silk gowns and the silk hats had melted 
away. 


CHAPTER II 


PLUCKING A BRAND 

“Make your plays, gentlemen,” croaked the metal- 
lic voice of the little croupier. His associate at the 
opposite end repeated the words in the same expres- 
sionless manner. 

There was the grind of the marble about the rim of 
the whirling wheel. The fashionable crowd pressed 
in closer at each side, where the numbered squared 
maps of the green board showed in yellow and red 
and black. 

“Plays are made,” came the phonographic an- 
nouncement from one end of the table and “Plays are 
made” was the answering chant from the other. The 
mellow clink of gold and the crackle of bills gave way 
to a single sharp click as the ball met the edge of 
its first pocket and shot up on the varnished slope. 

The shifting of shoulders and reaching of arms 
that had accompanied the beginning of the spin now 
ceased. Heads were turned toward the wheel box, 
where the marble was dancing and hopping upon the 
running circle of pockets, as if galvanized into some 
strange, unnatural life of its own. The wheel was 
slowing. The leaps and bounds of the marble showed 
20 



HIS EYES WERE FIXED INTENTLY UPON THE WOBBLING MARBLE. 

— Page 21. 





PLUCKING A BRAND 


21 


less spasmodic violence. Presently they ceased alto- 
gether and the sphere settled into a slot bearing the 
number fourteen. During half a revolution it hung 
in its position, not dropping wholly into the pocket, 
but carried on the verge by the yet potent centrifugal 
force. 

Pressed against the green baize of the table a few 
feet from the wheel box, a small, white hand folded 
into a tight clenched fist and spread out again, its 
fingers trembling and nerveless. A young man, 
scarcely more than a boy, was the owner of the hand. 
His eyes were fixed intensely upon the wobbling mar- 
ble. The story of futile dissipation and the ways of 
the wastrel was writ upon his pale face where all 
might read, blurring features that held possibilities of 
strength. He had forgotten the gamester’s pose of 
indifference in this intense moment and was merely 
human, youthful, suffering in the suspense between 
hope and fear. 

There was one who marked, and, marking, smiled. 
At the boy’s further elbow leaned a handsome man, 
immaculately fresh in his correct evening clothes, cool, 
self-possessed. He, too, watched the marble, but 
with an indifference equal to that on the stolid faces 
of the croupiers, the bankers and the lookout. 

Suddenly the ball, seemingly possessed of a new 
lease of vitality, rolled from its resting place and 
meandered along the slot rim, plumping to rest at 
last in a pocket. 

“Eight and black,” singsonged the croupiers, and 
black armed silver rakes swept the table all but clear 


22 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


in the breath. Under cover of the general movement 
among the players the pale faced boy leaned back, 
with wide eyes but with the hard wrinkle of a forced 
smile about the corners of his mouth. The man at 
his elbow spoke in a low tone. 

“The hunch was right for a minute, Sammy. We 
didn’t pull hard enough for that fourteen.” 

The boy nodded, with his set smile. 

“Well, I guess that’s enough for one night,” he 
said. He pushed away from the table, giving place 
to one of those standing, who immediately took his 
chair, and walked under the blaze of electrics and 
through the thin crowd of loiterers to the coat room. 

It was there that Robert Carter met him. 

“Running bad to-night, eh, Pulsain?” asked that 
properly garbed young man. The words were cas- 
ually put, in the manner of acquaintance. Pulsain 
was not sure he ever had met the one who thus ad- 
dressed him. But he felt dazed and he had met so 
many hundreds of fellows about town. 

“Yes, rather,” he answered, with an uneasy laugh. 
He had no definite plan in view except to get away 
from that horrible green table, and the meeting stead- 
ied him somewhat. He accepted one of Carter’s cig- 
arettes. 

“Let’s have something cooling,” suggested the 
other, and led the way to a corner table in the brilliant 
cafe. 

Ordinarily, perhaps, Sam Pulsain would not have 
been so ready to drink with a man whom he could not 
place. But the mere fact that the stranger had the 


PLUCKING A BRAND 


entree of Gringer’s meant something. Moreover, the 
chap evidently knew him, and he was not averse to 
company at that moment. 

He could not know that Carter had planned for 
that scene in the cloakroom for weeks. 

Carter, a country boy from Virginia, with little 
money and no friends, had come to New York but six 
months before, with the one set, even minded pur- 
pose of breaking into and subsisting upon the upper 
heights of New York society. Firm in the conviction 
that he was eminently fitted for a place among the 
accepted elect, he had made the metropolis his game, 
confident that matters of lumber, or steel, or rail- 
roads, even of ancient lineage, need play no part in 
his attaining of his ambition. A small preliminary 
capital had supported him. Some few successes had 
been his, the most notable of them being his assistance 
in the elopement of Jimmy Hope, which, as will be 
remembered, set all society by the ears and supplied a 
proverbial nine days’ wonder. 

He had improved the advantages offered by this 
first considerable step and had made an acquaintance 
here and there. One of the results had been to win 
for him the privilege of Gringer’s exclusive gambling 
place, where he pursued his great purpose cleverly, 
seeking always alertly for some opportunity to ob- 
tain a further hold among the socially powerful. 

At Gringer’s he had succeeded, with his native 
keenness and tact, in gaining a standing of familiarity 
with all the employees and with some few of the 
habitues. He seldom played, but he had been well 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


24 

introduced and Gringer made no comment. Mean- 
while, under a careful veil of idle observation and by 
the aid of occasional good luck with a stake, he had 
made a minute study of the methods of the house, the 
details of management and manipulation of the tables 
and of the players. 

Sam Pulsain had fallen under his notice. The boy 
had lost heavily during the last week and to Carter 
he displayed evidence of a strain. Even a father who 
stood for eight figures may reasonably be supposed to 
have fixed ideas as to the amount a nineteen-year-old 
son may squander, Carter thought. As he eyed that 
white face and the emotions that moved across it 
when the marble rolled he saw there the pressure of 
a secret dread. He had grown to be sure that some 
reason other than mere chagrin at the losing of a 
part of his pocket money brought the clenching of 
that hand. 

“Small sympathy out there when a man loses,” said 
Carter pleasantly, as they seated themselves. Pul- 
sain shook his head and glanced back into the glaring 
room where the absorbed crowd shouldered close. 
Carter was somewhat at a loss as to his tack. He 
felt certain that a story lay behind, and he meant to 
possess it. .The boy, removed from the excitement of 
the wheel, gulped down his drink and came back to 
normal control of himself. 

“You play a system, I suppose,” remarked Carter, 
“or on impulse. One’s as bad as the other. I haven’t 
been playing much lately. Wonderful fascination 
about it, though. 


PLUCKING A BRAND 


25 


“Friend of mine lost twenty thousand at Monte 
Carlo last summer, cleaned out. He was walking 
around the place with his hands in his pockets when 
he found a gold coin he had forgotten. Threw it on 
a table and quit an hour later ten thousand ahead. 
That’s the only way one can win.” 

He rattled on, hoping to interest Pulsain, to draw 
him out or to start a vibration with the boy’s thoughts 
that would offer a hint as to the angle to take. Pul- 
sain remained quiet, but indifferent. Carter drew in 
his approach. 

“Rum things come from playing roulette,” he ob- 
served, “if a fellow lets it get a hold on him. Bad 
game to start on borrowed money.” 

It was scarcely intended for a direct shot; only as a 
more intimate feeler. But he caught a quiver of the 
lips and a slight flush on the sallow cheek. He had 
touched something. There was a secret, then, behind 
the air of repose that was the result of wealth and 
social rank. He feared to bungle with more indirec- 
tion. Suddenly the sense of mastery that was his in 
emergencies came to him and he leaned forward. He 
reached boldly for the key to the situation with the 
force and precision and instinctive understanding that 
had won all his points for him in the advance toward 
his goal. 

“Tell me what it is. Let me help you.” 

Pulsain was startled. He sat back, a fear creeping 
into his face. 

“You can trust me when you couldn’t any of these 
fellows you’ve known all your life. My interests are 


26 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

free, not attached to a set or a clique as theirs are. I 
can see you need some one to stand by and I’m that 
one. Tell me.” 

“I — I don’t know what you mean,” stammered Pul- 
sain. 

“Don’t misjudge me so,” pleaded Carter. “I’m 
not trying to pry through curiosity. I’m red-blooded, 
and I know a man who wants a friend. Something 
is wrong. I have an eye for that, and a hand to mend 
it with.” 

He was magnetic, plausible, dominating. His 
phrases carried conviction and an impression of pow- 
er. Pulsain considered him. 

‘Why, I can’t even recall your name,” he said at 
length. 

“Just plain Robert Carter,” was the robust answer, 
“late of Virginia, now of New York. A man with no 
strings tied to him, but a member of your own class 
and fairly competent. Come. What is it? Been over- 
drawing your account? Or only signing papers?” 

The boy, as Carter had felt unerringly he must, 
yielded to the insistent offer of rescue. He hesitated 
a moment and then gave in. 

“No,” he said, “it’s not that.” 

“What, then? Be frank, Pulsain, so I can under- 
stand your position.” 

The stripling was loath to put it into words. 

“It’s my sister’s money,” he said finally. “She 
loaned it to me. The governor has been letting her 
run her own affairs for two years now. But he’s aw- 


PLUCKING A BRAND 


n 

fully strict. She has to give an accounting every six 
months.” His voice sank to a painful whisper. 

“She trusted me. My father is hard. He never 
gives me much. I told her I had a sure investment 
that would keep me clear of him. I borrowed from 
her once before and paid her all right. She thought 
it was real estate. I made something, but I lost that 
and then got some more from her.” 

“How much is it?” 

“I owe her ten thousand. The last of it went to- 
night. I’ve lost about an equal sum that I’d stacked 
up ahead.” 

“When does she have to account to your father?” 

Pulsain was agitated. 

“That’s the terrible thing,” he answered. “She 
must have it to-morrow. Father won’t listen to any- 
thing if he learns the truth. He’s said before he’d 
throw me off if I didn’t straighten out. But he’d be 
hardest on her if he found out what she’s done. She 
stands up to him when he’s in a rage and the upshot 
of that would be that she’d leave and earn her own 
living. She could, too; she’s clever. But it would be 
too horrible if I should be the cause of it.” 

“Steady all, old man,” said Carter. He sat back in 
thought. He saw no moral lesson in all this. He was 
not concerned in the betrayal of trust and the threat- 
ened family catastrophe. But he did see a better op- 
portunity for his purposes than he had hoped for. 

“Your sister doesn’t know of your gambling?” he 
asked. 

“No.” 


28 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


Carter determined that it should be his to remedy ( 
that ignorance. He was no altruist. He would pull ! 
the boy out of the hole if he could, but the sister 1 
should not be left in the dark as to the part Robert 1 
Carter played in averting disaster. He had seen her 
once or twice in the tea room of the Waldorf, a tall, 
stately, imperious beauty, with pride of name and 
family stamped upon her. She could appreciate such 
a service as he contemplated. 

“Come,” he said, “we’ll begin our little one act 
sketch right now.” 

He led Pulsain back through the superheated 
rooms, winding his way among the saunterers, past 
the silent, crowded players, to a door at one corner. 
He pushed it open and entered with his companion. 

They found themselves in a little anteroom, where 
a uniformed negro stood behind a brass railing. 

“Just tell Mr. Gringer that Mr. Pulsain would like 
to see him,” said Carter. 

The functionary withdrew by another door back of 
the railing and a second later ushered them through. 
They entered the inner office. 

Gringer sat at a large, massive table in the middle 
of a room hung with his famous collection of old mas- 
ters and lined with the curios, brass ware, ancient 
arms and rare furniture that made his place one of 
the most artistic and expensive apartments in the 
world. He was squat, square, with a body that 
bulged in his clothes, an aggressive, outthrust face 
and steady eyes. He was planted in his chair as if 
mortised and cemented there. Conventionally and 


PLUCKING A BRAND 29 

quietly garbed in a plain dinner suit, he looked the 
prosperous, retiring man of commerce. His glance 
went past Pulsain and settled, with a flash of inquiry, 
on Carter. The Virginian stepped forward. 

“A small matter of business, Mr. Gringer,” he said. 

Gringer ran the pages of a thin desk book through 
his fat fingers. 

“Glad to see you, gentlemen.” His voice was full 
and not unpleasant. “Sit down, won’t you? I was 
not aware of accounts outstanding against either of 
you.” 

Carter smiled. He did not take advantage of the 
invitation. Pulsain, standing a little apart from him, 
also remained standing. 

“No need to look for entries, Mr. Gringer,” said 
Carter. “We have no accounts, so far as I know.” 

Gringer looked at him impassively and bit the end 
from a cigar. His attitude was that of polite, but 
chill attention. 

Carter advanced his attack. He wished the test 
might come quickly. The first move was the hardest 
and he snapped it into play without preamble. 

“The situation is this, Mr. Gringer. Sam here has 
lost at least $20,000 at your tables. He is not unrea- 
sonable, but half of that sum was not his. He wants 
it back.” 

If his negro attendant had slapped him across the 
face the gambler could not have been more taken 
aback. A red flood of anger swept over his clean, 
plump face. He turned on Carter with lifted lip, but 
his mood suddenly changed. 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


30 

“I don’t know you very well, Mr. Carter, but I 
always had an idea that you came from the farm 
somewhere. Back to the corn fields! You’ve missed 
your calling.” 

Nothing could have reached Carter as sharply as 
this thrust. It was true — and he knew it — that his 
six months’ experience with the city had not sufficed 
to give him the easy, confident polish of manner and 
speech of the part he aimed to take. But Gringer, in 
spite of his accurate penetration, had made but a 
superficial estimate of his opponent. If it was an 
apprentice in the finer accomplishments of the leisure 
class that now strode to face the gambler across the 
table it was a balanced, self-sure personality. He did 
not raise his voice. 

“Possibly such a demand does impress you as being 
a trifle raw. Perhaps I am not following the accepted 
traditions in regard to your profession. Probably 
you are not used to objections concerning losses. But 
I repeat and emphasize — you are to pay back $10,000 
that you have taken from this boy.” 

The humor of the thing broke upon Gringer and 
he smiled, smoothly but unpleasantly. 

“You are making yourself ridiculous, Mr. Carter,” 
he said, with notable restraint. “I can only suppose 
it is because you have spent such a short time in the 
metropolitan atmosphere.” 

Bill Gringer was sharp, but Carter did not flinch. 

“And you, Mr. Gringer, are making a mistake in 
thinking that this demand, which seems merely hu- 
morous to you, is advanced with a false understand- 


31 


PLUCKING A BRAND 

ing of the situation. I have no quarrel with you or 
with the way you make your money, except in this 
one case. For certain urgent reasons I say again, you 
must return the sum I mentioned to this particular 
player.” 

Gringer might have seen at this point that he had 
not gauged his man or the motive, but he would not. 

“I don’t care to discuss the matter any further,” he 
said. 

“Very well,” replied Carter. “Then I shall have 
to press it.” 

Gringer lost patience. The veneer that long pros- 
perity and association with gilded refinement had lent 
him was brushed aside. It was the man in the rough 
that started from his chair. 

“Now get out of here !” he ordered, sharply. “Get 
out, and take that cub with you before I kick you 
out.” 

Carter regarded him calmly and then took a step 
forward. He leaned toward the gambler over the 
table and spoke in a low voice that Pulsain might not 
hear. 

“I wouldn’t make a scene, Gringer,” he said, sooth- 
ingly. “It might attract attention. Could you sur- 
vive a raid? And, if so, could you survive an exam- 
ination of your tables?” 

Gringer went flabby, his rage melting from him. 

“I think, now,” continued the Virginian, still for 
his private ear, “that you will give the boy his ten 
thousand. It came easily. You didn’t have to work 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


32 

the electric shift on him very often. He was playing 
in poor luck pretty consistently.*’ 

The man had fallen ashy white. Carter sensed the 
whirl of thoughts and fears that was racing through 
his mind. Moreover, he knew that Gringer, if he con- 
sidered himself seriously threatened, was dangerous 
and he stepped between the pause and an untoward 
possibility. 

“There is really no occasion for alarm,” he said. 
“It is my business to know queer things and to keep 
still about them. Your tables are no concern of mine. 
It is quite to my interest that you continue to enjoy 
your patronage and that I retain my right to mingle 
with it. I make only this one demand, no more.” 

Gringer’s hand fell to the table, groped for a 
drawer while he stood in lowering reflection. Pul- 
sain gasped. Carter watched the hand with brain 
and muscles taut, ready to meet any untoward move 
with a swift check. The gambler slowly opened the 
drawer and drew out — a red portfolio. Without a 
comment he counted out the bills, then shoved them 
across the table. Carter took them, handed them 
quickly to Pulsain and motioned him out. 

It was no part of his plan that he should make 
an active enemy of Bill Gringer. For fifteen minutes 
he talked with him, and when he followed Pulsain at 
the end of that time he felt that he had arranged a 
practicable armistice. Which was well, for Gringer 
had many and strange resources. 

As he moved across the salle des jeux, toward the 
cafe, he heard a page calling Pulsain’s name. He 


PLUCKING A BRAND 33 

stopped the attendant and took a square envelope 
from the tray, intending to deliver it himself. The 
superscription was in a strong but feminine hand. 
Robert* Carter was none of your finical adventurers. 
He was sure that the letter was from the boy’s sister, 
and this was no affair demanding close observance of 
the conventions. He slipped into the cloak room, 
pried up the flap, which was loosely gummed, with his 
penknife, and scanned the contents. The letter was 
as follows: 

“Dear Sam: You thought I didn’t know what 
you’ve been investing the money in, but you see I do. 
I knew you must be worrying a little, so I’m sending 
this where it will reach you soonest. Lectures are 
tiresome, and I never was a bluestocking, Sam. I 
took a necklace and some other thing to-day and 
made up the deficit. I suppose they will be missed 
from the safety vault, but not for several days. In 
the meantime I commend the situation to your con- 
sideration. Lovingly your sister, 

“Dorothea.” 

Carter, with all his cynicism, was conscious of a 
thrill of admiration. He hurried to a writing table 
and composed a brief explanation of the turn of af- 
fairs in just the style he would have used in address- 
ing a man. He signed it with his own name and pre- 
pared the envelope for delivery to the upper Fifth 
Avenue house. Then he called a page, gave him all 
the loose change he had and sent him off post haste. 


34 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

Later he listened to Pulsain’s profuse and very real 
thanks, mingled with frequent exclamations of relief 
and admiration, while they had a last drink. 

“You don’t know what you’ve done for me,” said 
the boy earnestly. “This ends gambling for Sammy 
Pulsain. I’ve had my lesson.” 

“That’s all right,” broke in Carter, who saw him- 
self for the time in the role of social reformer, 
and found it amusing. “But listen to me. You go 
right out of here, travel home to your sister and hand 
her that money quick. And don’t linger on the way.” 

“I’m going,” said Pulsain eagerly. “It’ll be a sur- 
prise to her. I’ll go this minute.” 

Carter smiled at the words as Pulsain hurried into 
his coat and the two made their way to the street. 
They shook hands at parting. 

“Sam,” said Carter, “I guess there are a good many 
things about my connection with this little matter that 
are mysteries to you. I’m going to add one more., 
That’s a mighty fine sister you’ve got. No matter 
how I know it, she is. You keep close to her and you 
can’t go far wrong. 

“And, by the way, if you should happen to think of 
it some time, old chap, I’d rather like to meet her.” 

“Meet her you certainly shall,” cried Pulsain 
warmly; “I don’t know of any one I’d rather have her 
know.” 

Somehow as Carter walked home to his hall room 
he felt that that promise would be kept. And he was 
fairly sure of the accuracy of the way he felt about 
things. 


CHAPTER III 


A SQUIRE OF DAMES 

Robert Carter caught the words as he placed a 
hand on the heavy fold of the curtain and he stopped 
where he stood. Couples were crowding through the 
doorway into the ballroom, but he pressed aside from 
them and held his place. There was no answer, no 
repetition of the whispered phrase. He crossed the 
threshold at the edge of the chatting procession just 
in time to verify its source. 

“The first time he leaves town,” was what he had 
heard. His instant thought had been that the speaker 
was Arnold St. Geoffry. What he saw as he passed 
inside was Arnold St. Geoffry taking leave, in formal 
manner, of a woman whose face was turned aside. A 
flush lingered on her averted cheek and St. Geoffry’ s 
eyes at parting flashed a discreet look of understand- 
ing. Carter stepped forward eagerly, but the woman 
was lost in the crowd. 

Jimmy Hope, to whom Carter had been useful 
on one important occasion, had met the young Vir- 
ginian that evening at Martin’s and had towed him 
into the nearest club of which that restless but now 
happily mated and sobered sprig of financial nobility 
35 


36 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

chanced to be a member. A “ladies’ night” was in 
progress. Carefully guarding his effective attitude of 
polished ease and sophistication, Carter had made one 
of a group of young men in the smoking room, where 
discussion had grown intimate concerning persons not 
present. 

He had kept his ears open and had heard several 
stories anent Arnold St. Geoffry, younger son of an 
English lord, whose social career had attracted some 
attention during the season and whose.casual acquaint- 
ance he had formed. One of these stories had con- 
nected St. Geoffry’s name with Mrs. Percival Champ- 
ney. He had learned that both were at the club this 
evening. An hour later he had gone upstairs to watch 
the dancing and to receive, apparently, sudden and 
startling confirmation of the smoking room tale. 

He turned to a bearded man who stood at his side 
watching the crowded, animated, brilliant picture. 

“Can you tell me who the lady was who left this 
chair near the door?” he asked. 

“If I am not mistaken it was Mrs. Percival Champ- 
ney,” returned the other politely. “She started across 
the room a moment ago.” 

Carter murmured his thanks and mingled with the 
throng of spectators, eyes alert for the figure of the 
woman he sought. But he could not find her. 

Five days later Robert Carter sat in his modest 
hall room smiling over two apparently trivial items 
among the publications to which he turned for in- 
struction in affairs of social moment. One of the 
paragraphs concerned Arnold St. Geoffry. After 


A SQUIRE OF DAMES 37 

alluding, as with a sour smile, to his success with 
“one of the most charming young matrons of the 
Long Island hunting set,” it stated that St. Geoffry 
had just betaken himself to Hot Springs for two 
weeks. 

Now Carter knew that the society journal was mis- 
informed. That very morning, in an out of the way 
barber shop on the west side, he had caught sight 
of an aristocratic profile in an adjoining chair. Side- 
long observation had assured him that the profile 
was the property of Arnold St. Geoffry. 

Of course this might be merely an accidental error. 
But what was St. Geoffry, the mirror of fashion, do- 
ing in such a barber shop? Carter had not made 
himself known, for it seemed clear to him that the 
young Englishman was trying to conceal his continued 
presence in the metropolis. 

The companion paragraph was from the financial 
columns of a newspaper of that morning. Carter 
studied it closely. 

“A directors’ meeting of the Q. Q. Q. Copper Com- 
pany will be held in Montreal to-morrow. Percival 
Champney has been in conference with the New York 
stockholders and will attend the meeting to represent 
their interests.” 

Champney away, St. Geoffry in the city under cover 
of a fictitious departure and Mrs. Champney, “the 
charming young matron,” alone in her Long Island 
mansion. Such were the threads of the story that 
Robert Carter was master of, with the whispered 


38 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


communication he had heard through the curtain to 
add significance to it all. 

Carter cared nothing for the ethical atmosphere of 
the circles to which he consistently sought admit* 
tance. While his attempts to gain an opening, a 
friend, a sponsor, had placed him at times in the part 
of a moral censor, such a guise had been fashioned 
from convenience and not from innate sympathy with 
better standards. He saw in the complication before 
him an opportunity to take a commanding position 
with regard to at least two of the socially elect. He 
possessed a secret involving the destinies of three im- 
portant individuals. And he meant to use it. 

For Robert Carter, with ready cleverness and in- 
sight, had sensed a mad action by a scheming and pos- 
sibly infatuated man and a flighty woman who had 
already been weak enough to allow her name to be 
mentioned with his. He foresaw an elopement. He 
intended to be present when it occurred. 

Robert Carter viewed the flat Long Island plain 
from the vantage point of a station platform late that 
afternoon. He had learned the location of Percival 
Champney’s magnificent country estate from the 
baggage agent, and from where he stood he could see 
the corner of a white stone gable among the trees half 
a mile west along the road. The beauties of that 
residence were common talk. A fitting home for the 
charming young matron, he reflected. 

His abstracted survey of the wooded levels ended 
while the glow was fading into twilight. The chill 
of a swift spring evening aroused him. He set off 


A SQUIRE OF DAMES 39 

upon his journey with brisk steps. The stretch of 
open country was massed in sage and gray, darken- 
ing as he advanced. It was night before he reached 
the lodge at the towering granite gate of the Champ- 
ney estate. Lights showed at the windows of the 
outpost structure, of itself pretentious enough for the 
residence of a prince. Beyond, up the sweep of drive, 
and visible through the first young foliage of the 
year, was the vague, extended brilliance of the 
Champney mansion. 

Carter did not pause at the gate, but bore steadily 
on, following the slender, spiked bars of the iron 
fence that hedged the park in aggressive privacy. 
The road was deserted. He left the highway and 
continued silently along the narrow border of grass. 

His plan was far from definite. It might easily 
be that his whole understanding of the situation had 
been falsely constructed. What he saw of his own 
share in it, should it develop as he expected, was lit- 
tle enough. His one purpose was to be on the ground 
to accompany the elopers, if such they were, and for 
the rest to trust to his own good fortune and ability 
in facing emergencies. 

He had made a hundred yards beyond the gate 
when he stopped and glanced behind him. He had 
not been observed or followed. Quickly he stripped 
off his dark overcoat, folded it and tossed it over the 
fence. Then, seeking a high hold, he swung himself 
from the ground and secured the advantage by grip- 
ping the bars with knees and feet. Again he found 
a grip, higher this time, and so worked himself to 


40 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 

the top. In another moment he crouched among the 
bushes inside the park, muffled once more in his coat. 

His approach toward the house was made slowly 
and with caution. An overcast sky favored him, 
though the shrubbery, in thick grown cultivation, 
offered the impediment of its interwoven twigs, that 
cracked spitefully at his passage. He won finally to 
the verge of the front lawn, where, a stone’s throw 
away, the bright, curtained windows of the house 
confronted him. Here, finding support against a tree, 
he held his patient post for hours. 

The chug and rattle of an automobile was the first 
interruption of his quiet vigil. It came from the 
other side of the house, and presently a machine swept 
into sight about the corner, drawing up in the grav- 
eled drive under the porte-cochere. Carter held him- 
self ready, but there came another snort from beyond 
and another car drew into line, followed by a third. 
At the same time the front door opened and conven- 
tional figures moved out in a chattering, leavetaking 
group. Guests were going. Carter rested again 
against his tree. 

After the file of automobiles had passed him, head- 
ed for the gate, lights about the place were extin- 
guished one by one, save at a corner on the ground 
floor, where a subdued glow seemed to indicate the 
location of the drawing room. He had been minded 
to remain near the front, but the automobiles suggest- 
ed a different angle for action, and he began to work 
carefully about in a circle. The garage was now his 
objective point. 


A SQUIRE OF DAMES 41 

He came upon the low, wide structure from the 
rear and peered in through a grilled window. Inside 
in a row against the further wall were a heavy lim- 
ousine car and two runabouts. Set in front of them, 
with its long, lithe body toward the -door, like some 
monstrous mechanical animal about to spring for 
freedom, was a powerful road car, its searchlights 
throwing a patch of radiance against the rear of the 
residence. Here was the first hint of a confirmation 
of his suspicions. The speedy machine was ready for 
use. He could see or hear no one in the garage. Ap- 
parently St. Geoffry intended to run it himself, and 
therein was the field the clearer. 

Putting aside caution and moving quickly into the 
execution of the idea that was taking on detail in his 
mind, he walked boldly about the building and en- 
tered. 

Carter’s knowledge of automobiles, such as it was, 
had been gained through the few young men about 
town with whom he had taken a trip now and then. 
But it was characteristic of him that during these 
brief outings, which had included a breakdown or 
two, he had absorbed much practical familiarity with 
machines. He ‘knew, for one thing, that the road 
car carried a pressure feed from the cylinder in the 
rear, and that thin connecting pipes vital to its life 
ran beneath the tonneau. Just above the cylinder and 
under the cape top was a steel trunk rack, or platform. 
There was no trunk upon it. 

He needed a wrench and he. fumbled with unskilled 
hands under the front seat until he had found one.. 


42 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


i 

Then he turned off the single electric light that swung 
from the ceiling, curled himself as best he could on ^ 
the trunk rack and waited again in the darkness. 

Another hour had passed and he had become pain- c 
fully cramped before he heard steps. Some one closed r 
the rear door of the house and crunched along the 
gravel. Carter, pressing close in his narrow space 
and making sure his hold, felt a rocking of the car 
and suddenly the engine began its rapid pulse and 
breath. So sharply as almost to wrench him loose 
the automobile shot out of the garage upon the drive. 
It stopped before the front entrance. 

Carter could see nothing of what passed and was 
forced to be content with going over the possible re- 
sults of his ludicrous predicament should he have 
failed in his understanding of who his fellow passen- 
gers were to be and what their journey meant. Voices 
murmured and whispered hurriedly. There was the 
jar of a hasty mounting upon the running board, and ' 
the machine started again with a jerk. In a flash it 
had passed through the gates and was in full career 
westward along the road. 

Almost choked with dust and gasolene fumes Car- 
ter clung to his precarious perch, slipping from side 
to side and forced to grasp the canvas of the folded 
cape top above him for support. He saw that to carry 
out his plan it would be necessary to change his posi- 
tion. Raising himself cautiously and bracing his feet 
on the bars of the trunk rack he peered over the top. 
He was relieved to find that the tonneau was empty. 
Dimly blotted against the sky he could make out two 


A SQUIRE OF DAMES 43 

figures in the steering seat. At the wheel side the 
figure was plainly that of a man. A filmy gray of 
fluttering drapery indicated that a woman was his 
companion. 

The railroad crossing had been reached and passed. 
Trusting to the speed and the darkness to conceal 
his movements, Carter shifted his weight to the -side 
and by climbing on the* rear mud guard reached the 
tonneau. He moved into it cautiously, lowering him- 
self first to the seat, then to the floor. Lifting the 
rubber mat he felt for the loose boards on the bottom 
of the car. 

Carter had no means of knowing whether the in- 
terruption of the gasolene supply after he had dis- 
connected the air pipe would cause the machine to 
stop immediately or within a few lengths. In fact 
the automobile had made a mile before there came 
two sharp explosions from the engine and the 
throbbing ceased. The man at the wheel applied the 
brakes instantly and as the car came to a halt at a 
place between two open fields started up from his seat. 
In a moment he turned and saw Carter, who had 
installed himself boldly on the cushions of the ton- 
neau. 

From the startled exclamation the young Virginian 
knew that he had been discovered and braced himself 
for the real test of his power to master the tangle suc- 
cessfully. The man stumbled slightly, but recovered 
himself and stood on the running board by his seat. 
His gasp brought the woman around sharply. Ready 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


U 

as Carter was for surprises, he was not prepared for 
her cry of terror. 

“Percy !” she screamed. 

Carter made no move, but sat with his coat collar 
about his mouth, watching the couple. 

“Wh-what the devil is this?” stammered the man 
in an uneven voice. He thrust a hand into the pocket 
of his long ulster. 

“Just drop that,” said Carter crisply, and there was 
pervading light enough to show the length of steel 
revolver barrel at the end of his straightened arm. 
The man’s hands rose promptly above his head, while 
a sigh of unutterable relief came from the woman. 
Carter leaned over the seat and reached into the pock- 
et toward which the man had motioned, keeping his 
weapon ready. What he brought out was nothing 
more dangerous than a compact electric torch of high 
power. Sitting back and touching the button he 
turned a flood of light full upon the two. 

He saw the pale but composed features of Arnold 
St. Geoflry at one side of his little picture, and at the 
other a fair, tender face, with wide blue eyes and 
framed in a closely drawn scarf or wimple, whence 
wayward tendrils escaped. He inwardly bent his 
knee to the editor of the society journal. It was 
decidedly a charming young matron, none the less so 
for the startled, pleading expression with which she 
sought to see beyond the glaring end of the torch. 
But, with his unerring instinct for personality, Carter 
felt that it was the man, not the woman, with whom 
he would have to deal in this adventure. 


'45 


A SQUIRE OF DAMES 

* “Well,” said St. Geoff ry coolly enough, after a 
pause, “what do you want, my man?” 

Carter smiled, a tribute in itself, since it could not 

• be seen. 

“Nothing much, St. Geoffry,” he answered. “We’ll 
converse a little if you like and then I’ll just take 
Mrs. Champney back home.” 

The mention of her name completely unnerved 
the woman and she sank back against the arm of the 
seat with trembling lips. St. Geoffry’s eyes nar- 
rowed a trifle. 

“I haven’t the pleasure of your acquaintance, 
Mr. ” 

“Carter,” promptly replied the Virginian. 

“Carter,” continued St. Geoffry calmly. “But I’d 
be pleased if you’d come to the point and tell me 
how much you want.” 

“In something of a hurry?” questioned Carter, not- 
unwilling to toy with the situation. 

“Will $500 suit you?” asked St. Geoffry. 

“Come, St. Geoffry,” was Carter’s answer in a 
sharper tone. “That’s too common a play. You’re 
cleverer than that. Even if you don’t recall me, 
which I take the liberty to doubt, you know that no 
one would be breaking into this little affair who was 
not perfectly informed as to your identity and your 
plans, as no footpad could be. Try something else.” 

“Possibly Mr. Champney sent you,” suggested the 
Englishman with a sneer. 

“Wrong again, St. Geoffry.” 

“Then see here.” His opponent’s jaw set, and Car- 


48 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


ter noted approvingly that he had not mistaken the ( 
man’s possibilities. “If you’re not a robber or a paid 
detective, this is none of your business, and you have 
to clear out. Barring these two occupations you have 
no possible interest in us and I’ll trouble you to take 
yourself off. I suppose you’re some cursed interfer- 
ing spy, but you’re committing an unlawful act in 
holding us up and you’d better drop it.” 

It was a strong if a questionable character, and 
Carter recognized qualities that he could admire, 
while he scorned them as lacking his own leaven of 
finesse. But further parley was useless. He talked 
now at St. Geoffry, but for Mrs. Champney, and set 
himself to reach her. 

“Still another error, St. Geoffry. It is my business 
decidedly. And,” his voice took on a righteous heat, 
“it’s any one’s business who is not willing to stand | 
by while a scamp induces a woman to give up every- 
thing for nothing. Particularly is it the business of 
those who have a regard for clean society in general 
and the standing of the Percival Champneys in par- 
ticular. That won’t appeal to you, I know. But 
that’s all the motive you’ll get. 

“Now, as for yourself. I can imagine exactly what 
you have told Mrs. Champney and what you have led 
her to expect — love, appreciation, understanding, hap- 
piness, the usual flimsy lures — with her private for- 
tune to keep you, and maybe — maybe — a marriage 
after her husband shakes off part of his shame in a 
divorce. But there are some few facts about yourself 
you haven’t told her.” 


A SQUIRE OF DAMES 47 

St. Geoffry, with twitching hands, made as if to 
spring upon him. He thrust the revolver an inch 
nearer and continued. 

“You haven’t told her, for instance, that you were 
cashiered from the British army for cheating at cards, 
or the string of low scandals wrapped around your 
name at home, have you ? Or that your family hushed 
up several affairs at great expense? Or that you could 
never be received again in your own country? Or 
about the affair with the Bascom woman in St. Louis 
since you’ve been here ? If you were really straight 
and only foolish in this, St. Geoffry, some might be 
found to pardon you. But when your one idea has 
been to victimize ” 

The Englishman, held from the demand of surging 
violence within him by the insistence of the revolver 
barrel, thrust back his wrath while he made his plea 
to the woman. 

“It’s a madman, Ellen. He’s not responsible. 
Leave the car. It can’t be far to the railroad.” 

Mrs. Champney did not move. She looked from 
St. Geoffry to the outlined form of Carter. The Eng- 
lishman misunderstood the glance. 

“He won’t dare to interfere further if you come 
with me,” he urged. “There’s a train we can catch 
to-night.” 

But disillusionment and growing horror showed 
upon Mrs. Champney’s face and Carter read her 
face aright. The mere physical break in the whirl 
of unconsidered revolt had turned her judgment upon 
her act and herself. Carter, by his suggestion of un- 


48 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


worthiness in the man for whom she had been ready 
to make her sacrifice, had hastened the collapse of 
her false emotion. The shock of the incident had 
awakened her. She saw the thing she had meant to 
do in its full significance for the first time. Her one 
thought was to turn, if not too late, from the 
dangerous step she had already taken. Carter did 
not wait upon a worded appeal. 

“Can you run the machine?” he asked her in a low 
voice. She nodded. Carter stood up. 

“Now, Arnold St. Geoffry, late lieutenant in a regi- 
ment which shall be nameless, forward march. Keep 
in the line of the searchlights and linger not. I’m 
rather an awkward shot and I might not be able 
to pick out your arm. You are free to reach the rail- 
road in any way you choose, so long as you don’t 
come within range again.” 

The young Virginian’s voice held firm to the key of 
command and in it was all the force and decision he 
possessed in times of acute emergency. Perhaps St. 
Geoffry also recognized a kindred soul. In the wan- 
ing light of the torch he stared motionless, one, two 
seconds toward the unwavering mouth of the revol- 
ver. Then slowly and with a last glance at Mrs. 
Champney, he stepped down from the running board, 
turned on his heel and moved on ahead. Carter took 
pride in him, for the man had said never a word more 
when he knew that he was beaten. The Virginian 
waited until the figure had faded into the night, and 
then turned feverishly, wrench in hand, to tighten the 


A SQUIRE OF DAMES 49 

joint he had loosened in the pressure pipe and restore 
the air. 

Perhaps he might never have won, though, if Mrs. 
Champney had not aided him with her greater knowl- 
edge of the machine. Timidly she answered his ques- 
tions, and it was with an answering thrill of satisfac- 
tion that he finally felt the gentle pound*of the engine 
when he whirled the crank. 

He sat beside her when she took the driver’s seat, 
and they began the return journey. She needed 
steadying, and he spoke to her reassuringly, for here 
lay the real value of the affair for him. 

“You need be under no alarm whatsoever in this 
matter, Mrs. Champney,” he said sympathetically. 
“The man will not trouble you again. I happen to 
know that his career on this side of the ocean was 
nearly run. He will have to leave, and nothing he 
can say now can touch you. I need hardly say that 
the whole incident ends here so far as I am concerned. 
My name is Robert Carter. I shall not tell you how 
I came to take a part in this incident. There is no 
call even to thank me for it. I merely trust that I 
may have an opportunity of renewing our acquaint- 
ance in more favorable circumstances. Having al- 
ready taken so much responsibility upon me, I think 
I can safely venture to say that I am not wholly un- 
worthy of it.” 

She did thank him, hurriedly, warmly, incoherent- 
ly, and after that they sped on to the park, through 
the gates and up to the door in silence. She asked 
him inside, and with a view to clinching an advantage 


50 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 

with the charm of appearance and conversation he* 
knew was his, he consented. She had scarcely un- 
wound her scarf, standing all flushed and wholly be- 
witching in the excitement and happiness of her es- 
cape, when there came the crescendo rattle of an au- 
tomobile from without. They turned in vague alarm 
toward the door. 

It opened to admit a stalwart, upstanding man 
shrouded in motoring togs and goggles. He lifted 
his disguise upon a strong, frank, laughing face. 

“Percy!” exclaimed Mrs. Champney for the second 
time that evening and the rest of her welcome was 
lost against his shoulder. 

“Thought I’d surprise you, Ellen,” said Champney, 
evidently taken pleasantly by surprise at her affec- 
tionate greeting. “The meeting was transferred to 
New York and we had it to-night. Lucky I had that 
racer in town. You don’t know how good it was to 
avoid having to be away. But I don’t think I have 
met your caller.” He looked inquiringly at Carter. 

“Why,” said Mrs. Champney, “this is Mr. Robert 
Carter, a friend — of Mr. St. Geoffry. He came down 
this evening and after the others had gone kindly 
took me for a spin in the red road car. My husband, 
Mr. Carter.” 

“Glad to know you, Mr. Carter,” said Champney, 
with a hearty hand clasp. “I hope Ellen has enter- 
tained you well.” 

“Mr. Champney,” returned the Virginian, smiling, 
“I have enjoyed a most delightful and profitable eve- 
ning..” 


CHAPTER IV 


MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 

“Any advance on eighteen? A rosewood antique 
cabinet, good as new. Are you all done at eighteen?” 

Carter, standing at the edge of the crowd about 
the auctioneer, returned no sign to the provocative 
glance from under the upraised hammer. The bid 
w r as now in favor of his only opponent since the second 
dollar, a small red faced bundle of a man, in shabby 
garb, who stood just in front of him. The auctioneer 
resumed his singsong in hope of further windfalls. 

“Going at eighteen, this fine, antique, handmade 
rosewood cabinet. Eighteen ” 

It was the backward glance of the red faced man 
that had checked Carter. Spurred by competition 
and a growing curiosity concerning this lone adver- 
sary, the young Virginian had pushed up the price to 
a point six times the value of the piece of furniture in 
question. The uneasiness of the red faced man had 
been almost ludicrous. He had fidgeted, delaying 
his bids, whispering his bids, hurrying them and 
shouting them. In the second when he named the 
sum at which the price now stood he had flashed a 
look behind him. 


51 


52 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


What Carter read in the fat, discolored face had 
knocked upon his sense of the mysterious. More than 
mere cupidity, more than small desire for fractional 
gain, more than auction room rivalry shone in the 
black, close set eyes. With characteristic attention to 
whatever suggested concealment or hidden motive, 
Carter had abandoned the bidding to study the man 
and the situation. The wearied hammer was raised 
in final appeal when the Virginian signaled. 

“Nineteen!” announced the auctioneer. 

A stir of interest about the circle awakened the 
functionary to a show of briskness and importance 
that served, perhaps, to cover his mystification. 

“Twenty!” piped the red-faced man. 

“A real, antique, handmade ” on went the auc- 

tioneer, and with him the price of the cabinet. Carter 
bid with a nod. The red-faced man continued his 
former uneven tactics. His nervousness became ag- 
gravated. A soiled and crumpled handkerchief was 
in constant requisition. He did not look around 
again. 

“Thirty,” said Carter, yielding to an impulse. 
Some looked at him curiously. Others smiled. The 
agitation of the red-faced man was painful. The auc- 
tioneer held the bid open a second, then impatiently 
knocked the article down to Carter. Wondering at 
himself the Virginian paid the clerk. He had started 
toward the door when a thought drew him back. 

“Can I have the cabinet taken away now?” 

“Certainly,” said the clerk. “I will send a boy for 
a wagon.” 


MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 


53 


Carter waited until the vehicle rattled up to the 
door and followed the helpers who bore his purchase 
downstairs. He saw it safely loaded, gave the ad- 
dress and started to walk away. As he turned the 
corner he glanced back. The red-faced man was 
standing on the steps watching him. 

In his modest apartment he drew a chair before 
the cabinet and examined it carefully. Its outward 
appearance was by no means remarkable. It was 
without inlaid or carved work. A few cheap strips 
completed its ornament. Its surface was scratched 
by hard usage. One leg was cracked. The double 
doors were closed and the key was missing. He 
pried at the space between them and they came open 
under protest. Inside were three shelves, supported 
by nails, and nothing more. 

Carter was puzzled. He began to suspect that his 
usual policy of following any odd or unusual circum- 
stance that might offer had led him to attach false 
value to this unhandsome wreck. Thirty dollars! 
And he needed a new silk evening waistcoat. He 
turned away impatiently. 

But wait. How if the cabinet had not given up all 
its secrets? Might there not be a hidden drawer or 
recess? He smiled at the thought. There was almost 
too much old century romance in the affair already, 
with a sentimental junkman as the central figure. He 
came back to the cabinet and ran a hand under it. 
With a thrill of renewed interest he was forced to ad- 
mit that the apparent bottom and the one beneath left 
some three inches unaccounted for. A tap brought a 


54i THE SOCIETY WOLF 

hollow sound. He went around to the back and 
looked closely at the wood.. Cheap boards ran cross- 
wise and were imperfectly fitted. The lower one 
alone showed true and smooth. At each side, just 
beyond the edge, he found a small screw head, sunk 
in the panel. 

After thrice breaking the blade of his knife he was 
able to remove the screws, and, warmed now to the 
task, pulled and drew at the lower bottom. Some- 
thing slipped suddenly and a shallow drawer gave 
way, clattering into his hands. 

In the center lay a bundle of letters tied with 
green string. The space about the bundle had been 
packed loosely with newspapers, as if to hold it in 
position. He lifted out all the newspapers and set 
them aside, noticing that one bore a date five years 
old. The letters were in uniform envelopes, plain 
and slightly tinged with yellow. Those on the outside 
had been faced inward. As he was about to untie 
the string, reflecting upon the possible significance of 
what he had found, his little clock struck seven. He 
recalled that he had an engagement for dinner that 
night with Sam Pulsain. 

He replaced the newspapers methodically and 
closed the drawer, then, moved by some instinct of 
caution, replaced the screws, tightening them into 
their places. He laid out his evening clothes and 
dressed hurriedly. Before turning out his lights he 
thrust the bundle of letters into his pocket. 

It was a gay gathering at Pulsain’s that night. The 
boy had been allowed the full use of the house for 


MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 


55 


tWo days during the absence of his parents and sister. 
Since the affair at Gringer’s Carter had comported 
himself with studious care toward the Pulsains. They 
were powerful allies to his purpose, could he win 
them, and he had refrained from giving either 
brother or sister the slightest impression that he 
wished to press the advantage he had won. He was 
conscious, moreover, that grateful as they might be 
he had stepped to their aid through a rather question- 
able atmosphere. He had awaited an invitation to 
meet the family, but it had not come, and he had 
begged off from most of Sam’s generous invitations. 
He wanted something weightier. The event on hand, 
however, was a “stag,” and offered an opportunity to 
mingle w T ith a desirable set of young men. 

Carter conducted himself well and before coffee 
was reached had become the center of a laughing 
group that drew eyes from the rest of the table. The 
Virginian bore himself as a man of the world, ready 
of tongue, nimble of wit. He began to feel that the 
evening marked a distinct advance for him. He was- 
in the midst of a telling personal anecdote, which he 
had cribbed from Montaigne, when the butler whis- 
pered deferentially in his ear that a gentleman wished 
to see him in the front hall. Surprised and uneasy, 
he excused himself with a droll remark and went out. 
He could think of no one who might know of his pres- 
ence at the Pulsains’. 

The butler indicated a small reception room off the 
hall and Carter entered it. Under the subdued lights 
in the middle of the apartment stood a man, an utter 


56 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


stranger to him, dressed conventionally, with Inver- 
ness open and silk hat in his hand. He was short and 
dark, with cropped black mustache and aggressive 
chin. He shot a sharp glance as the Virginian ap- 
peared within the curtains. 

“Mr. Carter, I believe ?” he began brusquely. 

The other nodded. 

“You bought a rosewood cabinet this afternoon.” 

Carter’s pulse quickened. He had not had an op- 
portunity to look at the hidden letters which were at 
that moment in the pocket of his overcoat, but the 
direct statement of the stranger indicated that he 
had not been wrong in suspecting some secret value 
attaching to them. 

“You seem to be well informed,” he answered 
coldly. 

“As it happens,” agreed the stranger. “You found 
some letters in the cabinet.” 

“Well?” 

“They were left there through the oversight of the 
former owner, who now wishes to recover them.” 

“Are you the former owner?” 

“I represent that person.” 

“I am afraid that will be insufficient.” 

“The letters are not yours.” 

“You forget that if I, as you say, bought a rose- 
wood cabinet, I took it as it stood, without specifica- 
tion as to its possible contents.” 

“I repeat, Mr. Carter,” said the stranger, advanc- 
ing a step, “the letters are not yours, and you have 


MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 57 

no possible concern in them. They are personal and 
private, and ” 

“How do you know I have found any letters?” 
asked Carter suddenly, moving forward in his turn. 
“What is your source of information?” 

The other eyed him a moment. 

“It is quite a minor point how I know,” he an- 
swered; “but you opened the cabinet and took out 
the letters. Whether you had previous knowledge of 
them or not — I suspect you had — you found the se- 
cret. Now I want them.” 

“This looks very much to me like burglary, with a 
touch of highway robbery added,” said Carter re- 
flectively. 

“Now, see here,” the stranger broke out with an 
abrupt gesture of impatience, “I’ll give you $500 for 
those letters, and I advise you to take it.” 

“Thanks awfully,” said Carter, smiling. “Your 
principal is at least liberal.” 

“Will you take it?” 

“It has occurred to me that granting the existence 
of these letters they will bear investigation before the 
matter proceeds any further. Suppose we end this 
interview right now?” 

“You give up those letters,” the other flung back 
at him angrily, abandoning all pretense of polish or 
reserve, “do you understand? Don’t think you can 
get away with any of your gold painted city airs on 
me. You’re nothing but a cheap grafter, living in a 
five dollar room and doing the shine wherever they’ll 
let you butt in. Climb down and hand over the let- 


58 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

ters or I’ll walk Into that room where your gulls are 
and tell the bunch — tell them your only home is a 
hole in the wall, your only clothes what you carry 
with you and your only stake a nervy bluff. I might 
tell them, too, that you’ve got a bunch of letters for 
a blackmailing dodge. In any case I can make a 
scene that will land your little game on the rocks. 
Oh, I know your kind, I do. But you can’t come it 
with me.” 

“Blackmailing,” said Carter thoughtfully, without 
a trace of uneasiness; “thanks for the word.” 

As Carter read the man he was capable of mak- 
ing just such a move as he had threatened, and, ab- 
surd as it seemed, the Virginian could not afford a 
disturbance. Questions would be asked. His posi- 
tion was too uncertain for any such risk, not safe 
enough to withstand unsavory advertisement from 
any source. He might call the police, but that would 
mean publicity and he could not see his way to that 
until he knew the purport of the letters. The stran- 
ger had gaged his true standing with alarming ac- 
curacy and from his remarks Carter thought it likely 
that his room had been entered during the evening. 

“My friend,” he said, turning to the other, who 
was frowning and slapping one hand with his gloves, 
“I will take your proposal under advisement. Wait 
here, will you?” 

Hurrying down the hall he entered the cloak room 
and took the bundle of letters from his overcoat. 
Loosening the string he turned the first one face up. 
It was addressed to a woman, at an uptown hotel, in 


MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 


59 


a firm, broad handwriting. He took out the enclosure 
and scanned the first few words, then turned quickly 
to the signature. 

“Homer Bidwell. ,, 

Blackmail. Such was the plain significance of the 
affair, and as he ran through the letter he understood 
why such efforts had been made to obtain the pack- 
age. The conspirators could have chosen no better 
victim for such a plot. The newspapers had been 
full of the attempts to oust Bidwell from the control 
of the Grapnel Insurance Company; full also of his 
vigorous campaign for proxies against the approach- 
ing election of directors. He had made headway 
through shrewd, aggressive tactics, advertising and 
a show of reorganization. But a breath would over- 
throw him. The letters would spell death to him, 
for here, in all the baldness of the written word, was 
the story of his folly. They were all addressed to 
the same woman and Carter skimmed through one 
or two more to glean the essential facts. He won- 
dered for a moment why the red-faced man had al- 
lowed him to overbid for the cabinet, but reflected 
that the incident would have attracted attention if 
the price had gone much higher and that his own 
actions must have argued a knowledge of the con- 
tents. 

Meanwhile his own situation was awkward and 
called for instant action. The stranger had the meas- 
ure of his weakness, and for the first time he needed 
some one on whom to lean. Sam Pulsain was the only 
person present on whom he had a hold. Even to call 


60 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


him in it was to chance all he had gained through 
his months of effort. But he had felt vaguely that 
he must stave off some such attack before he had gone 
far and he must face the test. He went to the dining 
room, looked in and after a few seconds caught the 
eye of his host. The boy read the signal and, excus- 
ing himself, came out. 

“Sam,” said Carter without preamble, “I’m in seri- 
ous trouble. I’m not the man to impose on a friend- 
ship such as yours and mine, but this is a case in which 
only a friend can act. There’s a man here bent on 
slandering me and kicking up a row. Aside from the 
fact that it would be unpleasant for your guests, it 
would be mighty hard on me as the cause of it. What- 
ever he can say about me in your hearing, of course, 
would give me no uneasiness. Can you help me to 
get rid of him?” 

Pulsain was quick to speak. 

“Count on me, old man,” he said. “He’s in the re- 
ception room, eh? Oh, Phillips,” he called to the 
butler, over the stairs. 

“Yes, sir,” came the respectful voice of Phillips. 

“Come up with Johnson, the chauffeur, will you? 
without making any noise.” 

Pulsain marshaled his men quickly and quietly, 
merely giving a few brief directions to wait upon his 
signal. Leaving them in the main hall he entered the 
reception room with Carter. The stranger still stood 
under the chandelier. He looked up with curious in- 
terest at Sam’s entrance. 


MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 61 

“May I ask what you are doing in my house ?” 
asked Pulsain.” 

“Certainly,” said the stranger promptly. “I came 
to get certain property held by Mr. Carter ^hich 
does not belong to him.” 

“Your presence here is objectionable to Mr. Carter 
and to me. I must ask you to leave.” 

“Sorry you don’t like it,” returned the man care- 
lessly. “But Mr. Carter knows how to get rid of me. 
He’s only got to hand over what isn’t his.” 

“In that case I shall have to have you thrown 
out,” said Sam sharply, and at his wave his followers 
appeared in the doorway. 

The stranger took in the situation with an under- 
standing glance. 

“All right, mister, you’ve got the call. I’ll go. 
But before I do let me put you wise to this four-flush- 
er who calls himself Robert Carter. You think he’s 
one of your kind, don’t you — with family, and money, 
and standing, and all that? Well, he’s just a ‘con’ 
man, pure and simple. He’s playing you and the 
rest of your crowd for good things. Oh, he’s smart 
enough, with his good looks and his nimble tongue. 
But he is nothing but a faker, probably a reformed 
bartender, I should say. He hasn’t a cent in the 
world except what he can graft from marks like you. 
See ? Take a tumble to him before he gets away with 
your rolls or pulls off some stunt that’ll make you the 
laughing stock of the town. He’s robbing me, and 
he’ll rob you if you let him. Just think over what you 


62 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

know about him or where he came from. Damn lit- 
tle, I’ll bet.” 

Pulsain looked at him unmoved. “I’m waiting,” 
he said. 

The stranger laughed unpleasantly and put on his 
hat, passing off his discomfiture in good style. 

“All right. But just remember what I said. Good- 
night, gentlemen,” and he swept by the group into the 
hall. The door closed behind him with a slam. Sam 
dismissed the attentive servants, then turned to Car- 
ter with a smile. Carter, who had eyed him keenly 
throughout the little scene, met his glance as frankly. 

“Now that’s over, old chap, let’s get back to the 
game; they’ll be missing us,” said Pulsain. And the 
Virginian, following him, knew he had stood the test. 

Carter returned to his home that evening by a cir- 
cuitous route, having in mind a certain red-faced per- 
son and an individual with a bristly mustache. On 
reaching his boarding house he made his way cau- 
tiously upstairs. His door was never locked. He 
stood on the threshold listening for several minutes 
before he moved swiftly to the gas jet. The flaring 
flame showed no lurking intruder, but lit up a picture 
of disorder in which the rosewood cabinet stood as 
the central object. Its secret door had been forced, 
and by no gentle hand. Its bad leg had crashed to 
ruin. Fallen forward, as upon one knee, it held the 
remnant of the shattered drawer from which the 
newspapers trailed in confusion. His trunk and bu- 
reau had been rifled and the contents strewn upon the 
floor. His few paltry possessions had been kicked 


MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 


63 


and thrown about. Anger stirred within him as he 
noted the wanton damage. After double locking the 
door and drawing the window shade he considered 
his next move. 

There were the letters, first of all. Untying the 
bundle again he laid them all out on the bed and 
went through them carefully. Here and there he 
came upon names, and with an eye to their possible 
future value he noted them and their connection with 
the scandal methodically in his little society memo 
book. With all the details clear he could appreciate 
the full value of his find. To a man of Bidwell’s 
wealth and immediate position the letters were be- 
yonfld price. He looked up from the last letter to 
the wreck about him. Trifling as the injury might 
have been to another, it meant much to him. The 
purchase of the cabinet had nearly exhausted his re- 
sources. Some indispensable garments were irre- 
trievably ruined. He needed money badly. It was 
with a grim smile that Robert Carter prepared to 
retire that night. 

The young Virginian had. little difficulty in obtain- 
ing access to Homer Bidwell in the offices of the 
insurance company next morning. There was some- 
thing in his manner and his appearance that seldom 
failed to recommend him as a gentleman worthy of 
attention to official buffers and private secretaries. 
He announced important business with the president 
and within a few minutes was ushered into the small 
inner room, where the financier sat before a wide 
rolltop desk. 


64 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


Bidwell was tall, angular, with smooth, strongly 
marked face and hair prematurely white. He meas- 
ured his visitor with cold eyes. One hand held Car- 
ter’s card and his air bespoke cold inquiry. He waited 
as one who need not unbend. The Virginian took a 
chair unbidden and in a leisurely fashion that seemed 
to stiffen the elder man’s attitude still more. 

“There was a rosewood cabinet, Mr. Bidwell,” 
Carter began easily, “which recently came into my 
hands.” 

The insurance president made no acknowledgment, 
his expression showing no change. 

“Quite by accident I discovered that it contained 
some correspondence of yours,” continued Carter. 
The silence that followed grew oppressive. 

“I must ask you to be more explicit, Mr. — ah — 
Carter,” said Bidwell distantly, referring to the card. 

“The letters were all addressed to the Cherrington 
Hotel,” the Virginian added. Bidwell’s revolving 
chair creaked suddenly, but there was no change in 
his pose. 

“I thought you might be interested,” suggested 
Carter after another pause. Again he awaited some 
response. 

“The rosewood cabinet, at the time I purchased it, 
seemed to be the object of the collecting zeal of two 
gentlemen, one with a very red face and the other 
with a stubby mustache and a decidedly unpleasant 
way of conversation,” he went on. 

“Friends of yours?” asked Bidwell calmly. 

“Quite the contrary. I thought you might know: 


MATTER OF FRIENDSHIP 65 

who they were and perhaps be able to explain their 
attachment for the cabinet. The thing itself was ap- 
parently not to be classed as a piece de luxe. They 
were inordinately fond of that cabinet,” said the Vir- 
ginian, like one who comments upon a remarkably 
curious phenomenon. 

“In fact, they attempted to take it away piecemeal 
during my absence. Their failure to do so made at 
least one of them quite objectionable in his personal 
resentment toward myself.” He shook his head, as 
if in contemplation of the unfortunate obsession of 
the disappointed collector. 

“I do something in the collecting line myself, at 
times,” said Bidwell presently, “though quite as an 
amateur. That is a most attractive pin you are wear- 
ing, Mr. Carter. Do you mind letting me examine it 
a moment?” 

Carter took out the pin, a passably good imitation 
of a scarab in thin gold setting, and handed it over. 

“Evidently a relic of very great value,” said Bid- 
well, gravely inspecting the stone. “I really must 
take the liberty, the almost unpardonable liberty, of 
asking you to set a price upon it.” He drew a check- 
book toward him, picked up a pen and turned his 
clear, cold eyes upon the Virginian. 

Carter arose, flicked a cigarette ash from his sleeve 
and, picking up the pin, readjusted it in his cravat. 

“I’m very sorry, Mr. Bidwell,” he said, with the 
utmost reserve, “but you are mistaken. The pin is 
not for sale. To return to the object of my visit,” 
he continued, “I desire to give over to you certain 


66 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

property upon which no one but yourself has any pos- 
sible claim.” 

He thrust a hand into an inside pocket and brought 
out the package of letters, tied with the same green 
string, and laid it before the insurance president. 

‘‘Sorry to have taken up so much of your time.” 

Bidwell dropped the pen and sat back, with the 
first hint of a waver in his glance, taking in the let- 
ters as his eyes came again to Carter’s face. 

“Not at all, Mr. Carter,” he said, in a tone that 
had undergone a subtle change. “I take it kindly in 
you, sir. May I hope to see you again?” 

Carter smiled. 

“For myself, Mr. Bidwell, I shall be charmed to 
continue our acquaintance.” 

The president left his seat and shook hands with 
the Virginian at the door. The men exchanged a 
final look at the threshold. 

“Good-morning, Mr. Bidwell.” 

“A very good-morning to you, Mr. Carter.” 

As Homer Bidwell sat in his chair thumbing over 
the pile of letters a moment later he made a remark, 
apparently to the crystal paper weight on his desk. 

“It is indeed a rare and admirable thing to find a 
young man with strength of character capable of re- 
sisting a dishonest impulse.” 

And the paper weight, which did not know Mr. 
Bidwell in his weekly role of Sunday school superin- 
tendent, because it never left the office, reflected a 
distorted image of Mr. Bidwell’s face, with a curious 
curl at the corners of the mouth. 


CHAPTER V 


A freebooter's prize 

It was the measure of his social progress that Rob- 
ert Carter received his invitation to the north shore 
residence of the Gatz-Browns as merely a preliminary 
to a greater end. A few months earlier it would have 
stood as a decisive triumph in itself. Now it meant 
that he would have three days under the same roof 
with Mrs. Joyce Pulsain, one of those who wore the 
golden keys at her girdle. 

To attend Mrs. Pulsain’s first October reception 
was a privilege sought by many dwellers among the 
loftier circles where the Virginian had never pene- 
trated. It was well toward the end of the summer, 
and time was ripe for scheming if he was to find his 
name on the list. His little item of advance informa- 
tion concerning the presence of the grande dame at 
the gathering had been obtained from Sam Pulsain, 
her only son. 

In Carter’s intimacy with the boy he had steered 
a most circumspect course. He had never recalled 
Sam’s promise that he should meet Dorothea Pulsain, 
the talented sister. He had never yielded to off- 
hand requests to dine with the family. While con- 
67 


68 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


tent to keep Sam as a trump he had not intended to 
force the play. He knew that Sam’s domestic stand- 
ing was none of the safest and that if he was to ac- 
quire a definite hold upon the Pulsains it must be 
through direct attack. Here was his opportunity to 
approach Mrs. Pulsain himself and in his own way. 
An impression once made, Sam’s friendship would 
serve to confirm it. 

A trap was waiting at the railroad station, and he 
was rolled away through graded green vistas and 
graveled roads to the sweep of hill where the quaint 
brick and white colonnaded mansion commanded a 
wide view upon the sound. From the front of the 
place the descent gave upon a strip of beach and a 
handsome three-winged boathouse. Gatz-Brown 
welcomed him in the open, wind swept hall. Carter 
had met his host several times at the Percival Champ- 
neys’, and had filed away the ruddy faced little man 
with his curling white galways and brisk manner as 
a friendly and approachable individual. 

“There you are, Carter. You’re well beforehand,” 
he said, heartily, as he shook the visitor’s hand. 
“Mrs. Gatz-Brown is out with young Tenny in his 
motorboat. We hardly expected any one on this 
train. Lucky I sent the trap on a chance. You^d 
have been stranded, my boy. Ha ! ha ! We’ll just 
stroll around a bit if you like.” 

Carter followed him out upon the hill and back 
toward the stables, one of the greatest delights of 
life to the sturdy old stock manipulator. On the way 
he gathered some points as to the persons he should 


A FREEBOOTER’S PRIZE 


69 


meet during his stay. His shrewd guess that he owed 
his own presence there to the Percival Champneys was 
soon verified. 

“ We’ll have to make up a fishing party, I expect, 
for Champney,” said his host. “Capital fellow, 
Champney. Quite mad on fishing. But you won’t 
have to join unless you want to. Nobody does any- 
thing here that conflicts with his own particular hob- 
by. If you want to ride I can show you some of the 
best saddle horses in the country. There are autos, 
too, though I’m just old fashioned enough not to care 
for them, and a fleet of water craft. Amuse yourself, 
my boy; that’s how we arrange matters here.” 

Carter joined cheerfully in the elder man’s homely 
and cordial conversation, winning the broker’s heart 
by his appreciation of the stable. He gathered on 
the way back that there would be about twenty in 
the party. 

“Mrs. Pulsain is to be here, is she not?” he in- 
quired. 

“Yes, she’s coming with Mrs. Dusoy, a relative, I 
believe. But I’ve a sad blow for you, young chap. 
Her daughter will not be here. Away with a school- 
mate or some such bothersome person. I confess 
I’m disappointed myself. A marvelous girl, Carter.” 

So he rattled on until they had completed a detour 
and reached the boathouse and landing float, where a 
high powered gasolene launch was just drawing in. 
Carter knew the tall, slight young man who stood 
awkwardly in the boat as Edgar Tenny. Mrs. Gatz- 
Brown sat in the stern. The amateur yachtsman was 


70 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


patently ill at ease at being thus compelled to execute 
a nice maneuver before spectators and bungled his 
landing badly. Carter and the attendant aided to 
draw the craft to the float after Tenny had backed 
and filled futilely for several moments, to the chuck- 
ling delight of Gatz-Brown. The young Virginian 
was greeted amiably by his hostess and all four re- 
turned to the house. 

When the guests assembled in the drawing room 
before dinner Carter had his first formal introduction 
to Mrs. Joyce Pulsain. He had known from com- 
mon report that the society leader was wonderfully 
well preserved, but he was unprepared for the slender, 
youthful beauty and grace of this woman of forty. 
He marveled and admired as she acknowledged the 
meeting with a gracious smile. There was nothing 
artificial in her appearance or in her manner, and he 
was conscious of the charm of a personality which, 
quite as much as position and wealth, had contributed 
to her importance. 

She turned casually to one of the other guests after 
a conventional remark to Carter, and in the move- 
ment he glimpsed the gulf that separated him from 
the queen of the elect. There had come such mo- 
ments before and they never embittered him. They 
merely served to show him the difficulty of his task. 
With watchful eye, ready tongue and wit he sought 
refuge with Mrs. Champney. He was of no possible 
importance to Mrs. Pulsain, who need pay slight at- 
tention to chance acquaintances. But he meant that 


71 


A FREEBOOTER’S PRIZE 

she should regard him in quite a different light before 
they left the North Shore. 

He learned next morning at breakfast that Mrs. 
Pulsain and Mrs. Dusoy, who bore all the character- 
istics of a companion and dependent, were to accom- 
pany Tenny in his motor boat. Tenny, who, it was 
understood, was a favored suitor for the hand of 
Dorothea Pulsain, had made haste to monopolize the 
grande dame for the first day’s outing. The rest of 
the party split into groups. Carter accepted an 
invitation to play tennis with a newly married couple 
and Mrs. Gatz-Brown, preferring to remain near the 
house. 

After luncheon he walked out on the terrace to find 
the sky overcast, with promise of a heavy blow from 
the northeast. Tenny and his motor boat had not re- 
turned. The Virginian studied the situation, remem- 
bering Tenny’s lack of control over his craft, and 
without saying anything of his intention he slipped 
up to his room and dressed hurriedly in yachting togs. 
When he came down again the veranda was empty. 
He descended to the boat landing. The aged boat- 
man in charge shook his head when Carter asked to 
have a small cockpit sloop brought to the dock. 

“She’s breezing up, sir. We get some nasty squalls 
off here.” 

“Oh, that’s all right,” said Carter reassuringly. 
“I can handle a boat all right, and at worst I can 
only get a ducking. That craft was made for heavy 
weather. You might take in a couple of reefs.” 

The sailor obeyed with much shaking of the head, 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


72 

and a few minutes later Carter was embarked. He 
headed well out on his first tack, then laid his course 
for Smithtown Bay. 

There was a choppy sea running, but the little sloop, 
decked over forward and for a foot on either side of 
the cockpit, slid through and over the waves with an 
ease and elasticity that showed her capable of weath- 
ering a gale if need be. The Virginian had made no 
idle boast in announcing that he could handle her 
and he braced himself confidently at the tiller. He 
kept a sharp lookout for Tenny’s launch. 

He had made more than three miles, close hauled 
on the starboard tack and running well off shore. 
The wind was rising. He would have felt more com- 
fortable with a third reef, though he was satisfied 
that his craft was in no danger. Then, far ahead, 
across the intervening expanse of curling white caps, 
he caught sight of a dark object uplifted for a mo- 
ment. Between wave and wave he altered his course 
a point and bore down toward it with increased 
speed. In a moment he saw it again and could make 
it out as a boat with figures in it wallowing and 
drifting with the scud, apparently helpless. He made 
up to windward again and then with loosened sheets 
winged to close quarters. 

Approaching the craft, which was rising sluggishly 
to the sea, he recognized it for Tenny’s motor boat. 
One of its three occupants, which even at a distance 
he could distinguish as Mrs. Pulsain, sat upright and 
unmoved in the stern. Near her, clinging to the side 
of the boat and waving frantically to him, was her 


A FREEBOOTER’S PRIZE 


73 


companion. Tenny alternately appeared and disap- 
peared, stooped and straightened in the task of bail- 
ing. At a cry from Mrs. Dusoy he paused and all 
three white faces were turned toward the nimble 
sloop, which, with its sails sweeping the water, 
skimmed lightly toward them. 

Carter, trusting to the light weight and buoyancy 
of his craft, brought up all standing neatly to the 
lee of the laboring launch. Running to the bow he 
tossed the long painter to Tenny, who caught it and 
made fast. The launch thus served as a drag an- 
chor for the sloop, which was kept at a safe dis- 
tance by the wind. The Virginian, lifting his cap 
gallantly and holding by the jibstay, stood where 
he could read the faces and attitudes of the two 
women and the man. 

Mrs. Pulsain, dripping wet, was very erect, very 
cold and very reserved. Tenny’s thin, pinched 
features bespoke abject fear and cowardice as he 
crouched, a drenched and shivering figure, with his 
hands still clutching the end of Carter’s painter in 
a drowning man’s gesture. Mrs. Dusoy was sobbing 
in a pitiable state of terror. A glance from Mrs. 
Pulsain overlooked them with contempt and spoke 
volumes to Carter. Spray was bombarding the craft 
in sheets with each wave. 

“A little hard luck?” was the Virginian’s first hail, 
as he balanced himself to his springing foothold. 

It was Mrs. Pulsain who answered him, as calmly 
as if holding a colloquy in a drawing room. 

“Rather poor management on the part of Mr. 


74 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


Tenny, I should say. Can you assist us, Mr. Car- 
ter?” 

“With pleasure, Mrs. Pulsain,” he answered, rais- 
ing his voice against the wind. “I will do what I can. 
Em afraid,” he continued, inspecting the launch, 
“that there’s too much water in your craft. The 
engine is undoubtedly short circuited. But there is 
no immediate danger.” 

As if to add an element of irony to his speech a 
heavier wave struck the launch and shot a white 
deluge of spray over the three figures. Mrs. Dusoy 
screamed. Tenny groveled. Mrs. Pulsain did not 
even remove her eyes from Carter. He thought her, 
in that moment, the most remarkable woman he had 
ever known. 

Carter appeared to be studying some possible 
method of rescue, glancing from the launch to sea 
and sky. Inwardly he was exulting. He knew the 
truth of his statement. There was no danger to the 
occupants of the power boat. The wind was no 
longer rising, the sky was clearing. There was a 
shelving beach to leeward. The launch could easily 
keep afloat until shallow water was reached and on 
the course she was drifting the wind would drive 
her behind a protecting point within half an hour. 
Meanwhile he meant to play his advantage to the 
utmost. 

“Can you take us on board?” asked Mrs. Pulsain. 

“I can carry only one,” said Carter doubtfully. 
“But I must warn you that it would be a very diffi- 
cult undertaking in this sea to shift a passenger. I 


A FREEBOOTER’S PRIZE 75 

am not afraid to try it, but perhaps it might be safer 
to signal for help and wait for the life savers. There 
is a station around that point.” 

Mrs. Pulsain showed her first sign of agitation. 

“Anything rather than that, Mr. Carter. The 
whole absurd affair would surely come out in the 
newspapers. I will take any risk you do not think 
is too great.” 

“Still, I can only take one,” repeated the Virginian. 

The society leader hesitated a moment, then made 
her decision. Carter had foreseen what it would be 
and had foreseen, moreover, its result. 

“Emmeline,” said Mrs. Pulsain to her companion, 
“you will get into Mr. Carter’s boat and follow all 
his directions.” 

Mrs. Dusoy glanced once at the frail sloop, danc- 
ing and bobbing at its tether, and sank back on the 
cushions, moaning. 

“Come, Emmeline, you must act at once,” insisted 
Mrs. Pulsain, shaking the other by the shoulder; 
“this is simple lunacy.” 

Mrs. Dusoy held frantically to the side of the 
launch and could not be induced to move. Mrs. Pul- 
sain looked pleadingly at Carter. For answer, he 
looked anxiously skyward, then: 

“The launch will be safer with two in it, Mrs. 
Pulsain. I think you would better venture it.” 

She nodded assent and the Virginian, deftly catch- 
ing his painter at a slack, hauled in swiftly. Run- 
ning back he pulled at the sheet and held the tiller 
over until the tiny sloop swung with her counter 


76 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


toward the launch. Reaching with his boathook he 
caught the other craft’s brass railing and drew in 
rapidly. It was an operation requiring quick judg- 
ment and action, for the sea had not fallen. He 
counted upon the stanch and light structure of the 
little vessel to withstand a shock. 

As the gap narrowed he braced himself at the 
shrouds and extended a hand to Mrs. Pulsain. She 
reached it and, half lifted, half carried by her spring, 
she made the side of the sloop. Carter ran forward 
again to the painter. Tenny was bringing it in hand 
over hand. 

“Stop that!” cried the Virginian. “Let go the 
painter!” 

“Do you want to leave us to drown?” answered 
Tenny wildly, and Mrs. Dusoy’s wail was added to 
his own. 

“Mr. Tenny, sir, will you kindly let go that rope?” 
said Mrs. Pulsain, grasping the situation. Still Tenny 
hauled in the frenzy of his fear, forgetful of all but 
that the smaller craft was to abandon him. Carter 
snarled at him : 

“Drop it! You’ll sink us all!” 

The launch, swerved with her quarter to the sea 
by Tenny’s efforts, slid into another heavy wave and 
shipped half of it. Tenny cried out and tugged 
madly. At the same instant he stumbled and fell 
backward across the engine, a strand of the rope in 
his hands. Just as his prow was about to crash heav- 
ily into the side of the launch Carter, with quick 
thought, had severed the painter with one stroke of 


A FREEBOOTER’S PRIZE 77 

his knife, fending off the collision with his foot. The 
push brought the sloop into a favorable position, and, 
tumbling into the cockpit, he hauled on his sheets, 
holding the tiller with his knees. In a breath the 
sloop had left the wallowing motor boat behind and 
was cutting smoothly out on the port tack. 

Carter helped to make Mrs. Pulsain comfortable 
on the weather seat with a loose tarpaulin and began 
to plan for an understanding with the woman who 
held a reward in her gift that was beyond price for 
him. 

Bedraggled, soaked with brine, her hair blown 
awry, her neat white and blue yachting dress cling- 
ing in ungraceful folds about her, Mrs. Pulsain was 
never forgetful of her dignity or self-control. The 
Virginian had ample opportunity to remark the cool- 
ness and composure with which she proved herself 
a thoroughbred. Her eyes still snapped with indig- 
nation at Tenny’s last cowardly move as she glanced 
back at the launch. 

“I am greatly indebted to you, Mr. Carter. Not 
only for removing me from a ridiculous position, but 
for relieving me of the company of that offensive 
creature. Do you think that Mrs. Dusoy will be 
safe?” 

‘‘Perfectly, now that the launch is lightened,” re- 
turned the wily Carter. “Look,” he added, pointing 
to something of which he had been aware for the last 
five minutes, “the life savers have put out around the 
point.” 

Mrs. Pulsain actually shuddered. 


78 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“What a narrow escape. Think of being found in 
that miserable little launch in this condition and 
snapshotted and questioned and written about for 
weeks ! I never would have heard the last of it.” 

Carter laughed. 

“You seem to think publicity a greater danger than 
the raging main itself/’ he ventured, feeling his way 
toward a more intimate ground. She did not resent 
it, acceding his right tacitly. 

“Very nearly,” she smiled, “though looking back I 
can see that I should have been glad enough to ac- 
cept even the life savers if it had come to the final 
question.” 

Carter appreciated her motives in adopting a light 
tone, but he determined that while she attempted to 
evade an embarrassing display of gratitude by such 
tactics, he would entrap her at her own game. 

“How did the launch get into difficulty?” he asked. 

“It was not the launch, but Mr. Tenny that had the 
difficulty,” she answered. “He was impossible. 
When the clouds came up I wanted him to put ashore, 
but he wouldn’t. What a spectacle he made of him- 
self.” She dismissed the unfortunate Tenny with a 
gesture of disgust. Carter eased the sloop toward 
home. As he busied himself with the sheets he was 
conscious that she was inspecting him carefully with 
the all embracing, sidelong glance of a woman who 
weighs and appraises in an instant. It was pleasant 
to know that his cap set well upon his handsome head 
and that the blue serge coat and white trousers be- 
came him. 


A FREEBOOTER’S PRIZE 79 

“Where did you acquire your skill in seamanship, 
Mr. Carter?’’ she inquired, adjusting her hair with 
a few deft touches. 

“About the lagoons and river mouths of Virginia, 
where I was born, Mrs. Pulsain. I owned a boat as 
soon as I could walk.” 

“You have not lived long in New York, then?” 

“Only a year.” 

“That accounts for the fact that I have not met you 
before,” she said. 

“I am the happier in having remedied my loss in 
such a timely manner,” he smiled back gracefully. 
Encouraged by her answering smile he took a more 
direct course. 

“One finds it difficult to establish a new circle of 
acquaintances when one is removed from one’s own 
section, Mrs. Pulsain. The Hopes, the Champneys, 
the Bidwells and the Gatz-Browns include my list of 
friends here.” 

She measured him again. After a pause she re- 
verted to their immediate situation. 

“This will be a preposterous story for the crowd. 
And when they know it will surely spread.” 

“What harm then?” queried Carter, who was puz- 
zled at the insistence with which she returned to this 
incidental phase of the adventure. 

“Why, don’t you see?” she broke out. “I’m not a 
school girl, to be rescued in romantic style and brought 
back looking like a drowned rat. They talk enough 
now if I make a move that is not in keeping with a 
dowager of sixty. Heaven knows what they’ll say 


80 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


to this. And my husband will never let me put my 
foot in a boat again.” 

Carter smiled in earnest at the tone of vexation. 
She was a very woman after all, society leader and 
grande dame though she might be, with her petty 
vanities, her inconsistencies, her trivial anxiety over 
appearances and the judgment of others. He felt 
sure of her. She was far from overawing. 

“Allow me the liberty of a suggestion,” he said, 
gaily. “The sun is out again. Go forward on the 
deck and dry off. I’ll cut out a mile or so and we’ll 
take an hour more in getting home. By that time, 
unless you’re considerably less capable than I believe 
you to be, no one will ever suspect that you’ve had a 
w r etting. So there’s your dreadful melodrama dis- 
posed of.” 

“But Emmeline and Mr. Tenny.” 

“Oh, you’ve nothing to fear from them. Tenny 
won’t be apt to go into details. And I guess you can 
restrain Mrs. Dusoy. And as for me, why, I’m a co- 
conspirator.” 

The twinkle with which he outlined his plot 
brought a rippling laugh from Mrs. Pulsain. As he 
watched her he reflected that she had come to be, 
In fact, not far removed from the schoolgirl she had 
professed horror at resembling. She turned toward 
him sympathetically, charmed from her defenses by 
his tact and spirit. 

“Oh, if we can only do it. You’re putting me un- 
der a great many obligations to you, Mr. Carter. 
How can I repay you?” 


A FREEBOOTER’S PRIZE 81 

“Why,” he said, dwelling playfully upon the word, 
but with a keen glance at her face, “in return you 
can be a guide for me through the social wilds if I 
seem to be a proper subject.” 

She looked at him with a hint of sharpness and 
sudden reserve. But her smile lingered and he boldly 
held to the situation with a clear, genuine laugh. 

“You might even begin my initiation with that re- 
ception of yours. I’ve been led to believe that it’s 
one of the thickest jungles of all to penetrate.” 

For an instant he feared that he had overshot the 
mark and lost. The move was the daredeviltry of 
finesse. He seemed to see all the hardness that her 
face had lost in their closer association return to it. 
But with all the strength of his individuality, all the 
dominance of his nature, he held fast the charm of 
the play situation they had woven between them. 
Then she laughed and held out her hand. 

“You are clever, Mr. Carter. And now for your 
sun parlor.” 

An anxious group was gathered on the landing 
float to meet them as Carter ran in before the wind 
late in the afternoon. 

“Ahoy.” 

“Where have you been?” 

“Were you in the storm?” 

“Mrs. Dusoy and Tenny were nearly drowned.” 

Mrs. Pulsain, quite dry and presentable once more, 
though somewhat rumpled as to attire, accepted Car- 
ter’s hand in stepping languidly to the float. 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


82 

“Wasn’t it fortunate?” she said. “I transshipped 
to Mr. Carter’s sloop and we had a delightful sail 
through it all. Just wind enough to make it inter- 
esting. We saw the life guards go out after the 
others. Isn’t it time to dress?” 


CHAPTER VI 


A REVERSE ON THE MARKET 

The bald man with the fussy tie and the diamond 
ring on his little finger came up to Carter in Les- 
ser’s brokerage office. His thin voice sounded across 
the rattling of the tickers, the hum of conversation 
and the monotonous calls of the blackboard clerk. 

“Mr. Carter? Pardon me, Mr. Carter. A word 
with you, sir — just a word.” 

The Virginian, secure in the superior armor of 
flawless clothes and perfection of manner, looked 
askance at his questioner and made as if to pass. 

“You have the advantage of me, sir,” he murmured 
coldly. 

But the bald man, smiling and mopping his brow, 
held his ground easily. 

“Very likely. Still, I will make so bold as to pre- 
sume upon it. I have a proposition that might inter- 
est you, I think.” 

Robert Carter was the last man in the world to 
play the victim in a bucket shop game or to waste 
his time with the petty rogues and swindles of the 
street, but it so happened that he was idle, that there 


84 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


was no one about that he knew and that he was just 
curious enough to wish to discover how this bald man 
meant to use him. It was sufficiently remarkable 
that his name was known. He seated himself in a 
vacant corner and prepared to listen. 

“You’re not to be blamed if you shy off at this for 
a while,” began the bald man, fumbling with his er- 
ratic tie. “I’m willing to believe that it is — well, un- 
usual, Mr. Carter.” 

The Virginian showed no surprise. 

“I’ve taken considerable interest in watching you 
for some time,” continued the bald man. Carter 
eyed him. 

“You flatter me,” he returned. 

“I’ll forgive you the dig,” laughed the other, set- 
tling back genially into the leather cushions. “But 
the point is this: Without any desire to convey of- 
fense, I have made myself fairly familiar with your 
way of life and general habits.” 

Carter began to stiffen. Decidedly, this was un- 
comfortable. He thought first of St. Geoffry, then 
of his unknown antagonist in the affair of the rose- 
wood cabinet. But the bald man hurried on, noting 
the suspicion in the Virginian’s face. 

“If I took the trouble you would see that I must 
have had a motive. So I had. I am the representa- 
tive of a group of operators having very wide in- 
terests and engaging in a great variety of activities. 
Recently they assigned me to pick out a young man 
familiar with the district, smart enough to execute 
commissions and with such connections that he could 


A REVERSE ON THE MARKET 85 

appear to invest o\i his own account. Do you get 
me?” 

“Well?” said Carter. 

“Well, it’s a plain business offer. I noticed you 
and followed you up. You are the one we want. 
You are on speaking terms with some big men. You 
are straight. To be frank, you look and act the part 
of the wealthy young loiterer. And unless I have 
slipped up the inducement we can offer you will prove 
acceptable.” 

“I don’t think I understand the nature of the ser- 
vice you are seeking,” said the Virginian, still on his 
guard. 

“Why, nothing more or less than to follow the in- 
structions you will receive from day to day, plac- 
ing orders as you are told to. You must be able to 
see the reason. There are others in the same busi- 
ness, fellows of good family but no funds, who are 
useful to manipulators in concealing big market 
moves. I make no gaudy promises. I am offer- 
ing you employment that will give you personal pres- 
tige without risk and without fear of 'discovery.” 

“I shall have to consider it.” 

“Do so,” returned the other. “My name is Weld- 
stone. You can find me at my office in William 
Street. So long, Mr. Carter.” The bald man waved 
his diamond and was gone. 

The Virginian found some difficulty in adjusting 
himself toward the proposed position. It was allur- 
ing, and there was no denying the fact that it might 
supply very welcome assistance. But he scanned it 


86 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


closely. His social advance had been too hardly won 
to permit the slightest indiscretion. In his policy it 
was better to refuse a million than to lose standing 
with any of the friends he had so laboriously culti- 
vated. He had heard of such arrangements, how- 
ever, and could see that they offered desirable ad- 
vantages. To be able to show money, to handle large 
stakes, to pose as he had nf'wer been able to for a 
man of wealth — there were possibilities for him here. 
The mere tickling of his vanity meant nothing. 
What drew him was the apparent chance to buttress 
his importance. It meant that he could approach a 
class of men whom he never could have impressed 
on the recommendation cf perfect clothes and pol- 
ished manner. 

He saw Weldstone in Lesser’s the next day and 
had another interview with him. He put his ques- 
tions with the utmost caution and watchfulness. 
Within half an hour he was satisfied. According to 
the agreement he was to call upon Weldstone each 
morning for orders. He was to have the power to 
command sums of money in several banks, placed 
temporarily at his disposal. 

This was the road by which Robert Carter entered 
the field of finance. He was well chosen for his role. 
Within a month he had handled $60,000, placing 
them in the dark and simply as the pawn of the pow- 
ers employing him. Had his cynicism stood in need 
of fresh lessons he could have drawn them from his 
experiences during :hat month. As a well dressed 
idler who blinked at the blackboards and exchanged 


87 


A REVERSE ON THE MARKET 

an occasional greeting he had been remarked but 
slightly. As a young man with money to play he was 
one to be recognized. With an eye characteristically 
set upon taking all the lead he well might, he skilfully 
built up the impression that he commanded large pri- 
vate resources and that so far he had only felt his 
way. 

Among the intimacies which his new occupation 
enabled him to foster was that with Gatz-Brown, the 
wily Talleyrand of the ’Change, whom he already 
knew more than slightly. Figures loomed and figures 
faded in the kaleidoscope of Wall Street, but the 
ruddy litle man with curly white galways always 
formed a part of the design. From the height of 
fuller knowledge Carter saw in Gatz-Brown one of 
the shrewdest, most farsighted and successful stock 
manipulators in the country. He always knew how 
far to swim in the dominant wave, drawing out be- 
fore disaster and chuckling serenely to the surface 
when reaction set in. 

It was impossible not to like Gatz-Brown, and aside 
from the social obligations under which he had placed 
Carter, the Virginian found him a valuable study. 
He made it a practice to drop into the operator’s of- 
fice at least once during the week and chat about 
thoroughbreds, the passion of the millionaire’s life. 
Gatz-Brown put a few casual questions to him one 
day concerning his presence in the district. Carter 
answered offhandedly, but he was quite aware that 
he could not deceive the financier in such a matter. 
If Gatz-Brown really cared to find out the source of 


88 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


any one’s activity the information could not be hidden 
from him. 

In due course Carter met the four other men who, 
with Weldstone, composed the group of his employ- 
ers. They were built of and for money — hard, sharp, 
unsympathetic. They formed interesting subjects 
before the clinic on his observation. Among them 
Weldstone alone seemed most human. He rather 
liked Weldstone. 

He had been invited to luncheon with all five. 
There was that in the air by which he was conscious 
of a definite purpose in the event. It cropped to view 
presently. 

“You must know Gatz-Brown fairly well, don’t 
you?” asked White, a grizzled broker with a shifty 
eye. 

The Virginian admitted that he did. 

“Notice you look in on him pretty regularly.” 

Again Carter assented. There was a moment of 
silence. 

“Ever hear the old man drop anything about the 
market? You ought to pick up something good that 
way.” 

Carter eyed the speaker distantly. 

“Do you mean to ask whether Mr. Gatz-Brown 
may not at times make some inadvertent remark that 
would have a bearing on values?” 

“Something of that kind,” was the answer, and 
there was a short laugh about the table. Carter no- 
ticed that Weldstone did not laugh. 

“Mr. Gatz-Brown may have said such things,” said 


A REVERSE ON THE MARKET 89 

Carter slowly, “but I have never tried to remember 
them.” 

White stared. 

“Never tried to, eh? Better make a note of them 
next time. We might have use for them.” 

“I will bear your instructions in mind,” returned 
Carter precisely. 

Several weeks later Carter had sent in his card to 
Gatz-Brown and was seated in the little anteroom to 
the private office. The clerk, preceding him from 
the outer rooms, had walked across the apartment, 
directing him naturally to the chair nearest the parti- 
tion. From beyond came the indistinct rumble of 
voices, scarcely audible, for the dividing wall was 
firmly made. Carter was not interested. He yawned 
and disposed himself comfortably in the chair. 

Suddenly the knob on the frosted glass door leading 
into the financier’s sanctum clicked and the voices be- 
came distinguishable, as the door itself was held 
ajar the fraction of an inch. 

“ and, as I say, you are placing me under a 

debt which I can never hope to repay.” 

The voice of the speaker was almost tearful. It 
was that of a man, but soft and pitched rather high. 
Carter did not recognize it. 

“Tut, tut,” came the amiable tones of Gatz-Brown. 
“You have been unfortunate — acted on poor advice. 
After this keep out of the street. It’s no place for 
one of your calling. And remember what I said 
about keeping it to yourself.” 


90 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“You are most kind, Arthur. I shall not forget 
this. X. Y. Z., you said?” 

“Yes. And buy — not sell. See if you can get that 
right,” said the manipulator, dropping his voice. 
“Buy for a twenty point rise and keep mum- It’s 
all over if the thing gets out.” 

Then, with a burst of cheery good-bys, echoed more 
faintly by the other, he apparently shook hands with 
his visitor. A second later the door swung open and 
the stranger crossed the anteroom. He was thin, 
slight and dressed in clerical garb. He hurried by 
with short steps without noticing Carter. 

Several minutes passed before a clerk from the 
inner room came in to inform the Virginian that 
Gatz-Brown would see him. He found the financier 
seated at his desk, busily engaged with a mass of 
papers. 

“Hello, Carter,” was the jovial greeting; “sit 
dow r n, my boy, sit down. How’s the tape running for 
you the day? Did you get a bit of that Yellow Rose 
Copper trimming? No? Now, that’s unfortunate. 
By the way, I bought a new roadster yesterday, a 
dream. You must come out and see her.” 

So ran the rapid fire of his conversation, popping 
trivialities and street gossip like a gatling gun, and 
all with a bland, almost fatuous, smile. It was hard 
to reconcile this chubby little individual with his 
cheerful, inconsequential comments and the fearsome 
dictator who juggled fortunes every hour. Carter 
met him on his own ground, the only possible way 


91 


A REVERSE ON THE MARKET 

with Gatz-Brown, and stayed his usual time. As he 
started to rise the manipulator stayed him with : 

‘‘Don’t forget your umbrella.” 

He pointed to one standing against a chair. The 
Virginian disclaimed it. 

“It’s not mine.” 

“Oh,” exclaimed Gatz-Brown, “then it must b$ my g, 
brother-in-law’s. He was here just before you came. 
Wouldn’t have made the mistake,” he continued with 
a grin, “if I’d looked at it closer. Isn’t it eloquent of 
rustic virtues and the cloth? You’d swear, now, that 
no one but a country clergyman could own it. One 
of my sisters married a small, struggling minister 
years ago. He’s done nothing but struggle ever since. 

He drops in on me now and then. A decent enough 
chap, but simple, quite simple. Good-by.” 

The Virginian went away in thoughtful mood. 
Here was one of those elusive tips that formed the 
basis of so many wondrous tales afloat among the 
gilded canyons, one of the chance straws to which 
hardened and sophisticated veterans of the street 
were apt to attach great importance in trimming 
their sails for the financial wind. He ran over the 
incident with close attention. Apparently the cler- 
ical brother-in-law had sought to swell a scanty in- 
come by venturing into the thorny paths of specula- 
tion. Apparently, also, he had sustained the inevi- 
table scratches in passage. The balm offered by Gatz- 
Brown was X. Y. Z., an industrial stock that had 
hovered sluggishly about par for a year or more. But 
in going over the incident one thing dominated his 


92 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


thought, one thing that would not be reconciled with 
his conception of Gatz-Brown. The financier was 
not the man to leave an open door upon his confi- 
dences, even by accident. 

Carter slept little that night. He passed the hours 
in going over the situation, bringing to bear all his 
power of keen analysis and all his native intuition, 
the two qualities which gave him his great aptitude 
for the peculiar task he had set himself. At the end 
he came to the conclusion that here was the best op- 
portunity he had had to place himself beyond the 
pinch of necessity. Recently he had improved the 
little sum he possessed and had cleared himself of 
debt by successful eighth chasing. But his total capi- 
tal was inadequate for the affair into which he had 
stumbled. He needed a stake — needed it badly. 

His early visit to Weldstone next morning was ac- 
companied by a request that his five employers be 
gathered together for a conference. Weldstone good 
naturedly translated the occasion into a luncheon at 
which he would be host, and for the second time the 
Virginian was one in the circle of money hunters that 
had engaged his services. When cigars had been 
reached Carter related, without addition or varia- 
tion, the incident of the previous day at Gatz- 
Brown’s. 

“1 felt at liberty to reveal this, gentlemen, 1 ’ said the 
Virginian, with a sidelong glance at Weldstone, “be- 
cause it was picked up in the legitimate round of my 
duties. Any one might have been in the office at that 
time and might have heard what I did. I leave you 


!A REVERSE ON THE MARKET 93 

to draw your own conclusons and to act accordingly. 
I have told you nothing but what happened.” 

The group broke up without comment, and Carter 
accompanied Weldstone to his office. He knew well 
enough that there would be a later meeting of the 
brokers to consider action on his information. In the 
meantime he desired some private conversation with 
the man in whom he had the greatest hope of friend- 
liness. 

“Weldstone,” began the Virginian, when they were 
together in privacy, “I come to you because you are 
the one who knows me best. You told me once that 
you had looked into my personal history. In that case 
you know that my record is straight, that I have made 
a fair start, that I have some powerful friends. You 
should know, moreover, that some day — some day, I 
said — I shall arrive.” 

He threw into his speech the sincere decision and 
force that were the outgrowth of his complete, un- 
wavering faith in himself. Weldstone’s beady eyes 
twinkled at him. 

“What then?” he asked cautiously. 

“Just this: I want a loan of ten thousand from 
you or credit for ten thousand at your office. It is 
extraordinary, I know, to ask such a thing of a man 
in your position and business. But it is a fair gamble 
as I look at it. Even should I lose I am sure to be 
able to repay you some time. In the meantime this is 
my one opportunity. I have no money.” 

Weldstone had recourse to his necktie, which he 
adjusted nervously. 


94 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“I will go so far as to consider it, Carter,” he an- 
swered. “Certainly, as you say, this is not in the line 
of regular business. How long is this tip good for ?” 

“I should say for three days,” returned Carter at 
haphazard. “Say until Friday.” 

The other nodded. 

“And kindly say nothing of this to your associates,” 
said Carter as he took his leave. 

On Wednesday and again on Thursday Weldstone 
failed to mention their little affair when Carter called 
for instructions for his usual work. The Virginian 
did not remind him. On Friday morning the broker 
gave his answer. 

“I can’t see your proposition, Carter,” he said with 
watchful eyes. “I can’t afford it. Sorry, but the 
thing is impossible.” 

Carter bowed gravely, and made no comment. 

“Oh, by the way,” called Weldstone as the Vir- 
ginian was about to close the door, “I am about to 
leave town until next Tuesday. You can fill in your 
time as you like until then. The market is rather 
dull.” 

Any one conversant with his disappointment would 
have looked to see the young man in gray humor as 
he walked away from the broker’s office. That same 
any one would have been surprised to see the smile 
that kindled the handsome face. 

Promptly at two o’clock, the hour when Carter was 
always to be found at Lesser’s, Weldstone bustled in 
and plumped into a chair beside the Virginian, who 
was calmly going over his note book. 


95 


A REVERSE ON THE MARKET 

“I climb down, Carter,” the broker exploded, mop- 
ping his bald head vigorously. His necktie had flown 
beyond all bounds. The other looked at him in sur- 
prise. 

“Here, take my pocketbook, my ring and my 
shoes,” continued Weldstone, with a grin. “You can 
have your ten thousand.” He sank limply against 
the leather cushion with a sigh. 

“I thought you were going away,” said Carter 
mischievously. Weldstone passed it off with a wave 
of his diamond. 

“You fetched me,” he said. “It was well done. 
There was something like fifty thousand subject to 
your orders in one bank alone. I almost broke my 
neck stopping it after you sprang your request. I 
may as well tell you now. I removed the stop, but 
I watched every bank and you as well — and you 
never reached out a hand. Come. I owe you the 
best drink money can buy.” 

Carter indulged in a little pardonable self-congrat- 
ulation as they walked toward a place of refreshment. 
Throughout his campaign toward the citadel of the 
socially elect he had been meticulously careful in 
money matters. He knew instinctively that here 
was the shoal upon which many a hope as ambitious 
and as well founded as his own had gone to wreck. 
It was the truest indication of his sagacity that he 
Had avoided the acquisition of the smallest sum in a 
manner open to suspicion. He had few scruples. He 
was simply wise enough to be honest. And, further- 
more, in this particular case he had foreseen the 


96 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


exact test to which Weldstone would submit him. 
And now to cancel part of his debt to the broker. 

The paper was signed and Carter received the slip 
showing the amount to which he could claim credit 
in Weldstone’s office. 

“How high do you think it will go?” asked Weld- 
stone when the transaction was closed. 

“How high will what go?” returned Carter. 

“Why, X. Y. Z., of course.” There was an inter- 
val, during which the broker showed some astonish- 
ment and the Virginian looked at him steadily. 

“Do you purpose buying X. Y. Z.?” asked Carter 
finally. 

“Do I purpose? Why, of course. What else? I 
have bought already. Isn’t that what you wanted the 
credit for?” 

“Not exactly,” returned the Virginian slowly. “I 
am going to sell.” 

It was a long interval this time. The necktie de- 
manded much attention, but the broker’s gaze was 
never removed from Carter’s face. His own was 
blank for some minutes. Then a grin broke across it. 
He extended his hand across the table. Carter re- 
turned the grip in silence. 

“I shouldn’t care to confide my intentions to too 
many persons, Weldstone,” said Carter at parting, 
and the other nodded his understanding. 

Carter began his coup on Saturday. There was still 
no sign of life in X. Y. Z. Inert and safe, it hung 
soddenly at 98. The Virginian went about the bro- 
kerage offices as usual and placed some buying orders 


A REVERSE ON THE MARKET 97 

on the stock, distributing them judiciously. During 
the morning hours he ran into Gatz-Brown. 

There you are, Carter, my boy,” hailed the manip- 
ulator. “Ever on the wing, I see. You must quit this 
and come out for an afternoon behind Tinkling 
Chimes, my new pacer. Ah, you youngsters! You 
will learn the value of conservatism some day.” 

“I’d like to go,” said Carter abstractedly, “but I’ve 
a big undertaking on at present.” 

“Well, well,” returned Gatz-Brown, chuckling 
cheerfully. “I suppose you must have your fling. 
Good luck to you, my boy.” 

Closing quotations on Saturday showed X. Y. Z. up 
to par, and the unwonted move attracted some inter- 
est. Carter, who knew what to expect, had observed 
indications of considerable secret buying of the stock. 
He was not the only one to whom the tip had been 
passed. 

Early on Monday X. Y. Z. moved to 102. Carter 
was watching the board at Lesser’s when the figures 
ran from beneath the chalk. He dashed out into the 
maelstrom of Wall Street. Dodging and squirming, 
he reached Weldstone’s. There he negotiated with 
his credit slip and turned anxiously to the ticker in 
the inner office. Weldstone was absent at the Ex- 
change. X. Y. Z. was climbing. Suddenly it jumped 
to 107. Carter sought the clerk and signed away the 
last thousand dollars which he had kept in reserve as 
margin. Then he hurried into the street, without an- 
other glance at the ticker. 

He lacked the courage to stay or to return to 


98 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


Lesser’s. He let the crowd whirl him this way and 
that, retaining his cool, self-possessed pose through 
force of habit, but inwardly helpless in a gyrating 
confusion of brain. Had he missed? Had he read 
Gatz-Brown aright? Or had he merely bungled his 
own play by haste? He found himself outside the 
Exchange and stood staring at it. For nearly an hour 
he remained there with vacant, unseeing eyes. 

When he finally pulled himself together a sense of 
the situation swept over him and he was seized with 
a pressing instant need to know, to end the uncer- 
tainty. In his agitation he passed a dozen offices 
where he might have found what he wanted and 
headed for Weldstone’s. He had his foot on the 
lower step when an orotund thunderbolt crashed into 
him and he held to a fat arm to avoid being hurled 
to the gutter. He was about to dodge away with an 
exclamation when he caught a glimpse of a flaring tie. 

“Great fish hooks, man !” a thin voice was wheez- 
ing at him. “What’s the hurry? It’s all over.” 

“What’s happened, Weldstone?” cried Carter. 
“I’ve been out of it.” The broker gurgled and 
mopped his shiny head. 

“Not much,” he answered, “only the bottom’s 
dropped out of X. Y. Z. It went from 107 to 86. 
I’ve made nearly a hundred thousand.” 

Carter presented himself at the office of Gatz- 
Brown after the market closed with X. Y. Z. at 84. 
The Virginian had covered himself at 85, well con- 
tent. The financier looked up at him with an ex- 
pectant smile. 


A REVERSE ON THE MARKET 99 

“Well, my boy,” he said cheerfully, “such are the 
chances of the game.” 

“Quite so,” assented Carter gravely. 

“I understand you were in pretty heavily.” 

“Not so heavily as I could have wished.” 

“Eh?” 

“I was selling,” said Carter casually. He waited a 
moment, then bending closer he added: “By the 
way, how is that brother-in-law of yours you were 
telling me about the other day?” 

Gatz-Brown looked thoughtful for the space of 
some three seconds, a fact afterward treasured by 
the Virginian. It was the only known occasion upon 
which the financier allowed himself to be seen stripped 
of his smile. There was a new expression in the 
eye he turned toward Carter with a redeeming 
chuckle. 

“Well,” he said, accepting the situation with full 
comprehension, “I can only repeat that invitation as 
to Tinkling Chimes.” 


CHAPTER VII 


A SUFFIXED VICTORY 

The first intimation of trouble with Bonsart came 
while those who were to make up the cast of Mrs. 
Jimmy Hope’s charity play were gathered in the 
ballroom of the Hope home. Carter, picked for one 
of the lesser parts, was chatting with the hostess where 
she sat at the piano, running her fingers lightly over 
the keys. The director, an important, chubby little 
man, was bustling about with chairs and couches, ar- 
ranging his setting, a bundle of manuscript serving 
in lieu of baton as he gave orders to the young men 
who were aiding him. 

Sauntering steps passed behind Carter, who was 
leaning easily at the side of the keyboard. Across the 
casual converse which the Virginian was holding 
with the charming young woman there drifted two 
phrases : 

“Who is this fellow Carter? It seems to me you’re 
taking a lot about him on faith.” 

Carter’s gaze was on Mrs. Hope’s face. She re- 
turned his look with a calm smile, rippling idly into 
the treble. He waited until the steps had echoed 
down the room, then shot a quick glance over his 
100 


SAUNTERING STEPS PASSED BEHIND CARTER, WHO WAS LEANING 
EASILY AT THE SIDE OF THE KEYBOARD. — Page IOO. 



i 



101 


A SUFFIXED VICTORY 

shoulder. The man who had spoken was Neville 
Bonsart, whom he remembered for a chilly stare and 
the monocle habit. The one to whom he was speak- 
ing was Stilbert, one of the youngest of the set in 
which he moved. Carter knew that the voice could 
not have been Stilbert’s. He turned back to Mrs. 
Hope with an unspoken question. 

Of all the persons with whom he had come in con- 
tact during his slow struggle toward the social citadel 
he felt that this woman, scarcely more than a girl, 
the central figure in his first Fifth Avenue adventure, 
had the truest knowledge of his purpose and char- 
acter. Perhaps it was this fact that had led him to 
avoid using her deliberately in any of his subsequent 
plans. Not that he feared her; rather he respected 
her intelligence and the insight that weighed him 
correctly while according him his due. It was the 
greater source of satisfaction to him that she fre- 
quently gave him a foothold in his ascent unasked and 
unsought, as in the present case of the society play. 
He awaited her comment now with mute appeal to 
their common understanding. 

“You must have been prepared for something of 
this kind,” she said. 

“Yes,” he answered slowly; “if you mean in my 
general consciousness. I have known all along that 
there would be interference at some stage, possibly 
at several stages.” 

“It was inevitable,” she nodded. “What are you 
going to do about it?” 

“I hardly see my way yet. He is too powerful a 


102 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


factor to be overlooked. I wonder how long this has 
been going on.” 

‘‘To my knowledge for a week at least. Since he 
was introduced to you at the Bidwells’ last bridge 
party.” 

“He has standing.” 

“And a sharp tongue.” 

“What does he want?” 

“You do Neville an injustice,” she smiled again. 
“He wants nothing from any man or woman except 
recognition of his own essential superiority and the 
conduct of their affairs according to his own personal 
ideas. To be happy he must occupy the censor’s 
office, free to pass judgment upon all things. He is 
tiresome, but he is listened to.” 

“What has he been saying?” 

“He has discovered that you have no visible claim 
upon the section of society which he has taken under 
his own wing. He is unable to see that you are en- 
titled to a place.” 

“If he were really in earnest he could do for me 
in short order,” said Carter thoughtfully. 

“No; hardly as bad as that. You have gone too 
far, I think. But he could make himself very dan- 
gerous.” 

“Is he brilliant?” 

“Rather stupid, I should say. A remarkable per- 
son for fixed ideas. Even something of a fanatic in 
his way.” 

“Is he wealthy?” 

“Abominably. He gives the most exquisite dinners 


103 


A SUFFIXED VICTORY 

in his ancient family stronghold. The Bonsarts are 
original New Yorkers, you know. They say that to 
be included in his circle of epicures is ‘better than a 
patent of nobility. Absurd, isn’t it?” 

“A cad?” 

“Far from it. I have«seen him do generous things. 
He is susceptible to good qualities in others, particu- 
larly if they fall in with his own peculiar notion of 
manners. ‘Knightly’ is a pet word with him. Do you 
perceive the significance of it?” 

Carter reflected. He began to have some concep- 
tion of the temper of this expected, yet unexpected, 
antagonist. 

“Then if I could win him he might perhaps repair 
what damage he has done me?” 

“With interest, probably.” 

“First scene, ladies and gentlemen ! We will now 
begin the rehearsal of the first scene.” The director 
was waving his manuscript at them with lofty gesture. 

They left the piano together and walked toward 
the buzzing group. Bonsart noted their approach. 
He turned an inquiring and insolent gaze upon the 
young Virginian. Carter ignored it, but felt it. De- 
cidedly the problem grew serious. 

During the rehearsal he carefully avoided Bonsart 
and refrained from unnecessary words with any one, 
guarding his every action with the most scrupulous 
care. He could afford no mistake with a captious 
enemy present. Until it was time to tame this oppo- 
nent, as he must if he would proceed toward suc- 
cess, it should be his to avoid the shadow of offense. 


/ 


104 ? 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


Meanwhile, he kept a watchful eye upon the other. 
As a result he came to the conclusion that Bonsart’s 
enmity was not yet malignant. As far as he might 
judge, he was not the object of any further secret 
attack that afternoon. 

The Virginian mapped his tactics with keen atten- 
tion to details. Heretofore every ruse in his campaign 
had been conducted against passively resisting obsta- 
cles, tradition, accepted conventions, pride of wealth 
and rank, exclusiveness, the hedged in circles of the 
purple clad. His advance had been made by mines, 
countermines, ambuscades, surprises, maneuvers, 
upon which he need not embark if he would not. 
Now, suddenly, he was thrown upon the defensive. 
Here was definite, well directed opposition. An active 
adversary was in the field to dispute his further pas- 
sage, even to hurl him back from what he Had gained. 
Precision and caution must be his watchwords. 

He noticed that at the close of each rehearsal Bon- 
sart and one or two of the other young men usually 
walked down to the Waldorf for a drink. He con- 
sidered these companions of the ill-disposed aristo- 
crat. He could count upon none of them as a sure 
friend, although he knew all of them fairly well. 
Going over the list he finally selected Ivan Dorling 
as the one best suited to his purpose. Dorling was the 
only son of an immensely wealthy mining man. His 
own acceptance in New York was not of ancient date. 
Carter had cultivated him to some extent and had 
remarked the freedom with which he dispensed large 
sums of money. It was his own cynical guess that 


A SUFFIXED VICTORY 


105 


this characteristic of Dorling’ s had recommended him 
more than any other for social recognition. For the 
rest he knew him as an easy, friendly boy, good- 
natured to a fault and well disposed toward himself. 

The charity play was nearly ready for its first per- 
formance when Carter found the setting right for 
his own private histrionic effort. Bonsart and Dor- 
ling were walking down Fifth Avenue from the 
Hopes’ one pleasant afternoon. The Virginian fol- 
lowed them unobserved. Entering the Thirty-third 
Street entrance to the Waldorf he came around into 
the cafe a few moments later to find the two seated 
at a table over their glasses. As Carter had been sure 
he would, Dorling hailed and invited him to join. 
Bonsart was cold and distant and the conversation was 
carried on by the other two. The Virginian found 
ample matter for comment in the approaching play, 
and Dorling joined him readily in the discussion. 
The time passed smoothly in spite of Bonsart’s fri- 
gidity. Carter glanced at his watch presently. 

“Half-past three,” he exclaimed. “Now, that’s 
annoying. Past banking hours. I am in a mess.” 

“What’s wrong, old chap?” asked Dorling with 
ready sympathy. 

“Why, I can’t imagine how it came to slip my 
mind. I had a very important transaction on this 
afternoon that depended upon a cash loan, and now 
I’ve missed my broker.” 

“Come, that’s too bad! Can’t it be remedied?” 
asked Dorling. The Virginian caught the curl on 
Bonsart’s lip as he listened. 


106 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“Why, yes. It could be,” said Carter, with an 
embarrassed smile. “Are you in a position to lend 
me $5,000 as a very especial favor?” 

Dorling’s checkbook and fountain pen came to light 
promptly. Carter was conscious of a little twinge of 
regret that he was not in a position to profit by this 
complacent generosity. But he was after larger game. 

“Five thousand, you said?” 

“That will do, yes. Thanks awfully.” 

The check was filled and signed. Carter folded 
it and tucked it in his pocket. 

“This is a great favor, Dorling. Now if you’ll ex- 
cuse me for a moment I’ll make my arrangements by 
telephone.” 

Carter never knew exactly what passed in his ab- 
sence until some time afterward, though he counted 
confidently from his knowledge of the two men upon 
a scene almost identical with the one that actually 
occurred. The Virginian had scarcely passed into the 
corridor when Bonsart was upon Dorling hammer 
and tongs. 

“So this gentleman adventurer has strung you up 
like all the rest, has he?” he demanded scornfully. 
“Oh, he’s a clever young manipulator; there’s not a 
doubt of it.” 

“Why, what’s wrong with him?” asked Dorling in 
Surprise. 

“Nothing, absolutely nothing. Only you can say 
good-by to your five thousand. He’s simply played 
you in first-class style. I wondered where the chap 


A SUFFIXED VICTORY 10T 

got his capital and his assurance. It’s clear as day 
now.” 

“Well, why shouldn’t I lend him the money?” 
asked Dorling, uneasily. Bonsart held up both hands. 

“Why, indeed, good youth — why, indeed?” he 
mocked. “Unless one cares to consider the fact that 
you will never see it again there is no reason under 
the sun why you shouldn’t lend it to him.” 

“Well, he’s a good fellow,” returned Dorling. “He 
probably needs the money.” 

Bonsart stared a moment at the simplicity of the 
answer, and then fell to laughing. 

“You’ve hit it there, my boy. He surely does need 
it. And just as surely he’s a good fellow, as you say.” 
Then his mood veered suddenly. He leaned toward 
the other with serious face. 

“Look here, Dorling; I don’t like to see you victim- 
ized. This man is nothing but a common grafter, and 
how he made his way into such circles as the Hopes 
and the Bidwells gather about them is more than I 
can see. What does he call himself? Robert Carter. 
Who ever heard of Robert Carter ? He says he comes 
from Virginia, but there are no Carters down there 
that I know of. Now Eve watched him, and he’s just 
shown me his game, cards up. I’m going to uproot 
him. It’s a shame and a scandal that we are open 
to the devices of low adventurers of which he is the 
type. Some one must keep an eye open for such peo- 
ple, and now that I have proof I’m going after him.” 

“Oh, come,” returned Dorling. “You’re preju- 


108 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


diced. He’s an awfully decent chap. I don’t grudge 
him the money.” 

“You make me tired. Are you fond of playing the 
easy fool to such a man? At least follow my advice; 
it can do no harm. When he returns ask him when 
you can expect repayment or how long he will need the 
money, or some such question. It is perfectly proper, 
even supposing that the loan was asked in good faith.” 

“I hate to,” said Dorling, squirming. 

“Now, do as I say. I want to show you the fellow 
as he is. You’ll catch him off his guard and we can 
use the incident as a club to beat loose his hold.” 

“Well,” returned Dorling, reluctantly, “if you think 
it will be all right.” 

“All right? Of course it will. You’ll see him on 
tenterhooks.” 

Carter was absent about fifteen minutes. He could 
not count upon the success of the stratagem he had 
planned, but he was reasonably sure that Bonsart 
would induce Dorling to arrange some test of his 
good faith. As he read the young man of the monocle 
he must inevitably take a hand in an affair that did 
not concern him in the least and seek to manage it 
to his own satisfaction. Hostility to the Virginian 
w r ould do the rest. 

“It’s all right,” said Carter cheerfully, re-entering 
the cafe. “I’m immensely obliged to you, Dorling. 
Let’s have a drink,” and he called the waiter. After 
the orders had been given he glanced at the two men. 
They had not spoken yet. Something w r as in the air. 

“By the way,” said Dorling suddenly, in a voice 


A SUFFIXED VICTORY 


109 


that he strove to make matter-of-fact and off-hand, 
“I’ve become rather methodical lately in business mat- 
ters. Gone in for bookkeeping and all that sort of 
thing, you know. When can I expect repayment, if 
you don’t mind, Carter?” With flushed face he drew 
a notebook from his pocket and poised a pencil. 

The Virginian took a breath for inward satisfac- 
tion. This was positively too simple. It gave him 
the whip hand without an effort. Meanwhile, his face 
went stern under Dorling’s words. He looked at the 
young man intently a moment and then whipped out 
the check. 

“Right now, my dear fellow,” he answered quietly, 
and pushed the slip across the table toward Dorling. 
There was not the slightest hint of pique in his ges- 
ture or expression. His attitude was merely that of 
a superior mind subjected to misunderstanding. Bon- 
sart was watching him closely. Dorling’s embarrass- 
ment was painful. 

“Oh, really, Carter, old chap, I didn’t mean it that 
way. I was just making a feeble effort to be exact, 
you know. The governor’s been after me time and 
again about such things.” 

“It’s all right, my dear boy, all right. I’m not of- 
fended, not in the least. You’re quite right,” said 
Carter, soothingly. The tone, such a one as he might 
have used with a blundering child, completed Dor- 
ling’s confusion. 

“Carter, you must take it. I insist. Really, I shall 
have to regard it as a personal reflection if you refuse. 


110 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

I ask you as a favor, old chap. Do take it back, 
there’s a good fellow.” 

Carter smiled upon him calmly. 

“Oh, very well, if you insist.” He took the check 
from Dorling’s offering hand, sensing rather than see- 
ing the triumphant flash in Bonsart’s eye. “Let’s say 
no more about it,” he continued, and with the words 
he tore the check across, tore it again and reduced 
it to tiny fragments, which he dropped to the floor. 
The gesture was absolutely free from a trace of the 
theatric. It was merely casual. 

“As you were saying, Dorling,” he said, closing 
the incident with the firm, sure grip of one who is 
used to setting people at their ease in any situation, 
“the director has managed the little play excellently. 
Unless I quite forget everything he has taught me I 
positively feel I shall be a credit to him with my little 
three lines.” 

Dorling recovered awkwardly. Carter had rat- 
tled on for some minutes before he was able to re- 
spond. The Virginian was wholly unconscious, at his 
ease, the man of the world who cannot be placed at 
a loss or in the wrong. 

Subtly he emphasized the absence of sulkiness or 
resentment from his manner. Delicately he conveyed 
the impression that his one idea was to relieve Dor- 
ling courteously from all embarrassment proceeding 
from an ill-considered act. The audience he was play- 
ing to was Bonsart. He could read Dorling with one 
glance. The boy was his creature from that moment 
if he so wished. 


A SUFFIXED VICTORY 111 

Bonsart’s face was a study. Schooled to reserve 
and self-command though he was, he could not keep 
some trace of his surprise and change of feeling from 
showing. Watch as he might, there was no false 
note in the Virginian. Word and act were those of 
the truest gentleman. As Carter had figured from 
the outline picture of the man’s character supplied by 
Mrs. Hope, the affair had an irresistible appeal for 
him. He could not argue against his convictions. 
Affecting precise notions of conduct, he found Car- 
ter perfect, conforming to his own ideals. Slowly he 
readjusted his ideas about this stranger. 

But Carter was minded to force home his advan- 
tage. For some time he had contemplated a certain 
incidental move in his scheme of advance, and he saw 
now the way in which it could be made of service, 
immediate and future. He checked his flow of small 
talk with another glance at his watch. 

“I say, isn’t it about time for Mrs. Pulsain to be 
found in the tea-room? Let’s wander in there and 
look for her. This is rather dull.” 

The others assented readily, and they passed down 
the corridor. They found Mrs. Pulsain as the Vir- 
ginian had suggested. She was with Mrs. Gatz- 
Brown, and the young men joined them at their table. 
The chatter of the hour engaged them, and Carter’s 
sparkling wit kept him continually, though not ob- 
trusively, forward. 

By deft management he then gradually led the 
conversation to a point where he had Mrs. Pulsain 
for vis-a-vis, and the other three formed a second 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


112 

group, one of those divisions that fall naturally when 
four or more persons are together. His immediate 
purpose was to tune the talk to the personal note, 
a matter which could not be naturally or gracefully 
adjusted in the general flow of comment. Since the 
incident at the Gatz-Brown summer home the Vir- 
ginian had been conscious of Mrs. Pulsain’s interest in 
him. He could understand her feeling. He had 
shown himself polished and clever, yet withal a some- 
what mysterious figure in the world of which he 
appeared to be a part. He had meant to clear that 
mystery before her October reception, and there was 
no time so propitious as the present. 

“I hear you highly commended for your work in 
Mrs. Hope’s play,” said Mrs. Pulsain. “It is even 
intimated, at the risk of causing trouble, that you 
should have been cast for a more important part.” 

Carter laughed the compliment aside. 

“I’m afraid my friend the director has been doing 
me this unfriendly office,” he said. “I suppose he 
detected some superficial indications that I had trod 
the boards before.” 

“Oho! You have performed for the groundlings, 
then?” 

“Merely as an amateur, in Virginia.” 

“Wonders on wonders! First a yachtsman, now a 
thespian! How did you happen to transfer your 
talents to New York, Mr. Carter?” 

“Would you like to hear a dull but brief account 
of that operation, Mrs. Pulsain? I warn you that it 
will include a revelation of deceit and perfidy.” 


A SUFFIXED VICTORY 


113 


“Two things that I particularly adore,” she re- 
torted. “Let us have the story, by all means.” 

“I have never told this before, but to whom should 
I confess if not to my mentor and guide?” he said, 
recalling their previous understanding with a smile. 
“My qualifications must have been examined at some 
time, and I can think of no more kindly eye than your 
own to scan them.” 

He could see that the others were lending ear to 
what he said while continuing their own chatter per- 
functorily. 

“Family reverses before my father’s death left me 
a paternal estate, the visible assets of which were a 
crop of mortgages, three chests full of papers in in- 
conceivable confusion, and the promise of lengthy 
litigation,” he went on. “I did not care for the pros- 
pect. I determined to come to New York. Mean- 
while, I had no friends in the North. On impulse I 
decided to leave my name out of the situation, since 
if I bore it I might be led to expect aid from it and 
suffer accordingly.” 

Bonsart’s glance was turned toward him expect- 
antly. 

“So I came here as plain Robert Carter, incognito, 
as it were, to see what I could see.” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Pulsain, “this is thrilling. What 
next?” 

“That’s all, dear madam. Am I to be forgiven?” 

“But if you’re not Robert Carter, who are you?” 

“My own name is Robert Pendleton Carteret,” he 
answered. 


114 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


‘‘Dear me. How romantic. Oh, folks — people,” 
she called to the others, though there was no need, 
for all had heard. “I have an acquaintance here 
that I would like to present to you. Mrs. Gatz-Brown, 
Mr. Dorling, Mr. Bonsart, allow me to introduce 
Mr. R. Pendleton Carteret, late of Virginia.” 

Carter arose and bowed a trifle ceremoniously, yet 
with an air of gaiety that relieved the situation. The 
affair was explained with laughing questions and quiet 
replies. 

“Quite a sensation, I declare,” said Mrs. Gatz- 
Brown. “Are we authorized to give this out, Mr. 
Carteret?” 

“You will assist me if you will allow me to bear 
my patronymic hereafter,” responded the Virginian 
lightly. 

Bonsart was quite vanquished. The flavor of old 
world adventure in Carter’s concealment of name, 
the old world suggestion in the name itself, the ex- 
planation of the handsome young man’s presence in 
New York, coming pat upon the affair of the check, 
completely won his admiration. He extended his 
hand impulsively and shook that of the Virginian, 
murmuring congratulations upon his having resumed 
his proper colors. As the party were leaving the * 
hotel to enter Mrs. Pulsain’s automobile a few mo- 
ments later he dropped back with Carter. 

“I say, Carteret, have dinner with me to-night, 
won’t you, old fellow?” 


CHAPTER VIII 


A CUTLASS IN HAND 

“You’re a queer chap, Carteret. What under the 
sun makes you think you’re going on the Water 
Kelpie?” 

Bidwell wore an expression of skeptical good humor 
as he watched the Virginian. He had an almost ab- 
normal respect for this young man and for his capa- 
bilities. He had gaged him with his own quiet ac- 
curacy of judgment and had found him shrewd and 
able. More than all else, he had had a personal 
demonstration of Carter’s intelligence. But the young 
man’s intimation that he meant to be one of a very 
especially select company soon to leave for a month’s 
cruise on Calvin Stanhope’s yacht seemed mere boast- 
ful extravagance. 

“Why,” said Carter coldly, “do you see any par- 
ticular reason why I shouldn’t?” 

“No, my dear fellow, not the slightest reason. But 
you haven’t been invited.” 

“I shall be.” 

Bidwell shrugged his shoulders, smiling. “I like 
your complete confidence in that desirable consum- 
mation. Incidentally, if I were close to Stanhope my- 
115 


116 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


self you should have had your invitation anyway. 
But I’m a parvenu in that crowd myself.” 

Carter smiled back. He did not resent BidwelFs 
plain acceptance of R. Pendleton Carteret as a par- 
venu. He understood Bidwell perfectly and occa- 
sionally dropped the mask in his presence. The in- 
surance president rested under heavy debt to him and 
had remained his unreserved friend in spite of that 
fact. 

“I know you would have aided me if you could,” 
he answered, “and it’s quite clear to me that the 
presence of Mrs. Bidwell and yourself on that craft 
represents years of patient preparation. You natural- 
ly doubt that I, not nearly so well equipped as your- 
self, should count upon entering Stanhope’s charmed 
circle.” 

“A perfectly natural doubt, you’ll admit,” said the 
other, rapping on the table to call the attention of a 
passing waiter. 

“Then you can see no possible opening for me?” 

“Absolutely none, Carteret, if you want me to be 
quite frank. Without any desire to discourage your 
laudable ambition or to reflect undue credit upon my- 
self, Stanhope’s cruises are things to marvel and 
wonder at. There are always just so many guests 
on board, of just such a character, picked, so the 
stories go, as an artist might weave colors or com- 
pose a bouquet of flowers, with studied care as to 
the complementary and contrasting qualities of the 
various individuals. A sort of social epicurean dream. 
The masterly picking and choosing is said to make 


A CUTLASS IN HAND 


III 


the voyagers delightfully congenial, and it’s certain 
that there’s not a soul in New York who won’t jump 
at the chance to go. No one is out of place, no one 
is left over, and no one is lacking for any of the en- 
tertainments and amusements with which Stanhope 
so cleverly passes the time.” 

“And he’s all filled up for this one,” said Carter, 
reflectively. 

“The invitations were out last week. There are 
to be fourteen in all. Husbands with their wives 
account for eight, and the gathering is really remark- 
able.” 

“I know — you told me. The three remaining men 
are Bascom, Little and Stuyver, bachelors all. And 
still I say that I shall be one of that same remarkable 
gathering.” 

Bidwell felt there was small profit in carrying the 
discussion further. The thing was simply impossi- 
ble, and if Carteret chose to think he could do it, well, 
what matter? 

“Still unconvinced? I’ll give you a chance to back 
your view of it,” laughed the Virginian. 

“I shouldn’t care to rob you,” returned Bidwell. 

“Don’t mention it, old fellow. Come, are you with 
me for a thousand?” 

“If you press me I’ll say done.” 

“Done it is,” said Carter, and they shook on it. 

“Now, I expect a little help,” continued Carter. 
“Nothing that will place your wager in jeopardy. 
But really if I’m going to be along with you for a 
month I must have something to wear, and it may be 


118 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


that I can only join you at the last moment. All I 
want you to do is to include a trunk of mine with your 
baggage. No, I don’t mean to crawl inside it.” 

“I admire the way you have of still taking it for 
granted that you’re coming,” said Bidwell, with a 
laugh. “I wonder what Stanhope would say to hear 
you talking? But there’s no trouble about the trunk. 
We’ll fix that easily. Perhaps you might be kind 
enough to send the key along. I might be able to use 
the contents myself, and it would be too bad to have 
your outfit idle.” 

“Don’t you worry about my outfit. I’m going to 
use that myself. I’ll let you know when to expect 
the trunk and send it around. Good-by.” 

Carter knew Stanhope slightly and liked him. He 
hoped to know him better, for the Stanhopes were the 
leaders of a set he had never been able to enter. 
Robert Carter, now*these several months in full bloom 
as R. Pendleton Carteret, was well and favorably 
known in many desirable quarters. He was com- 
fortably settled in modest but presentable bachelor 
apartments, and was no longer in the position of the 
adventuring outlaw who sallies abroad with hungry 
glance and ready weapon in search of a chance wind- 
fall. He was safely ensconced part way up the side 
of the bristling galleon that is society. But he had 
gone so far only to find unsuspected and hidden bar- 
riers that must still be passed before he could win 
aloft. 

Mrs. Pulsain, a mighty ally in his campaigns, could 
not aid him with the Stanhopes. They were not of 


A CUTLASS IN HAND 


119 


her group, which was rather of the newer financial and 
industrial fortunes. While she herself was sufficiently 
well placed to have been one of them, she had become 
the leader of a set apart from theirs, where ancient 
lineage and landed estates were accorded more 
weight. 

Calvin Stanhope was a pleasant-spoken, well-man- 
nered man, of the youthfully bald type, with an en- 
gaging smile and a mobile mouth. Carter had met 
him at the New York Yacht Club, whither he some- 
times went with Percival Champney. With what tact 
and shrewdness he might he had tried to cultivate 
Stanhope, but with small success. Whether it was 
that the man was conscious of the Virginian’s arti- 
ficial claim to distinction or whether it was merely 
the calm indifference to further acquaintance of one 
whose present resources in all things are sufficient, 
Carter could not tell. His shafts, cleverly directed 
to excite interest in himself, rattled idly against the 
yachtsman’s polished armor. Yet with all his reserve 
Stanhope remained likable and most courteous. He 
was quite lacking in insolence or the air of being on 
his guard. 

At a later meeting with Stanhope in the club Car- 
ter tried again. In the interval he had studied yacht- 
ing and things thereto appertaining with his won- 
derful facility for grasping and assimilating series 
of facts. As a result he met with slightly more en- 
couragement. He attacked Stanhope through his 
foible. It was hard to know where the yachtsman 
ceased to be merely habitually decent and began really 


120 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


to notice — so hard, in fact, that it was almost a matter 
of instinct. Still, as they sat chatting casually with 
Champney and others in the balustraded niche at the 
top of the wide marble staircase, Carter began to 
feel that he had at least identified himself in Stan- 
hope’s mind, attaching his face, name and some im- 
pression that he was not wholly impossible to the 
other’s consciousness. This was something, if he could 
find a way to improve it. 

And then it was, in the course of the talk, that he 
learned of Stanhope’s coming cruise in his new yacht, 
the Water Kelpie. Having learned from Bidwell 
who were to form the company he examined the possi- 
bilities. Shortly afterward he formed the audacious 
resolve which took Bidwell so by surprise. 

On the morning after the conversation with Bid- 
well, Carter presented himself at the office of Gatz- 
Brown in Wall Street, where of late he had been 
something of a stranger. The financier hailed him 
warmly. 

“There you are, Carter, my boy. Hold on. Car- 
teret is the proper word now, eh ? Coming up fast, 
aren’t you? Glad to see you. Sit down.” 

“Thanks, Mr. Gatz-Brown. How are the trot- 
ters ?” 

“Pacers, my boy, pacers. I haven’t driven a trot- 
ter in three months. Pacers for me every time. Pve 
got the best stable on Long Island, even if you won’t 
come to see it. But what can I do for you?” 

“I’ve come to ask a favor, Mr. Gatz-Brown.” 

“Favor, eh?” returned the other, eying him keenly, 


A CUTLASS IN HAND 


1£1 


but chuckling all over his rotund little body. “Come, 
now, Carteret, you played it pretty low on the old 
man last time you flaunted your pennon in these parts. 
Turned the double cross on him, by George ! Seems 
to me you’ve got a well developed nerve to come 
around asking favors.” 

“I don’t expect to get any,” said the Virginian 
boldly, with his open smile, “but that doesn’t keep 
me from asking. And what you’ve just said is my 
best reason for asking. You’d rather help a man when 
you know what he’s done than when you’ve got him 
checked up as a question mark. However, this isn’t 
an affair by which I propose to profit directly.” 

“Philanthropic, eh?” 

“Not exactly. Is Bertrand Bascom still nursing 
Hicksville and Great Eastern?” 

“Nursing it? That’s good. That’s Bascom’s way, 
all right; he’s the fussy nursemaid for you when he’s 
got anything on. Yes,” he added with sudden cau- 
tion, “I believe he’s still pretty much interested in 
Hicksville and Great Eastern. Why ?” 

“It wouldn’t be hard for you to nod your head in 
the direction of that stock and make it look as if it 
had a self-induced attack of delirium tremens, would 
it?” 

“Come, Carter, get to the point. What are you 
gunning for?” 

“I’m gunning for Bascom.” 

“Well, let’s hear the scheme.” 

The Virginian described the whole plan, briefly and 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


12a 

frankly, while Gatz-Brown fumbled with the papers 
on his desk, smiles and frowns alternating on his face. 

“Lord, what cheek you have to come bothering me 
w T ith such things !” he snapped finally. 

“Yes and no,” returned Carter calmly. “What dif- 
ference does it make to you? The market is like a 
harp of a thousand strings to you. IVe watched you. 
You play for the enjoyment of the game. It’s busi- 
ness, yes, but pleasure, too. You’ve got imagination. 
The harmony you draw from the thing is the total 
result of your various manipulations. You can just 
as well include the Hicksville and Great Eastern in 
your next symphony; it’s just another string to pluck.” 

Gatz-Brown stared a little. Here was surely a 
novel view of the grind of stock market affairs. But 
the Virginian knew his man, knew him as he made 
a point of knowing all with whom he came in con- 
tact. There was a streak of sentiment in the little 
financier, and the figure appealed to him. Privately 
he had always liked to think that the ledger balance 
of his operations was not the sum and total of his 
business life. 

“You see, Mr. Gatz-Brown, I’m not trying to coin 
the thing. I’m not asking you to put it up or put 
it down. All I ask is that you pick it up and use 
it in some way; you can make it pay as well as any- 
thing else,” Carter wound up. 

Gatz-Brown reflected, with his dancing eyes upon 
his visitor. “Strange what a hold you have over 
me, Carteret. Here you are trifling with a busy man 
over some kind of horse" play, and instead of sending 


A CUTLASS IN HAND 123 

you about your business I suppose I’ll have to do what 
you ask.” 

“I’ll be eternally grateful,” ventured Carter. 

“Damn your gratitude,” said the other briskly. 
“I’ll do what you ask. But no tricks, now. No 
tricks.” 

“Not a trick, I solemnly vow,” said Carter, as he 
took his leave. 

His next visit in the financial district was to his 
old friend Weldstone, who greeted him warmly. Car- 
ter explained his wants once more, and the broker 
agreed to help him as far as possible. Weldstone 
also undertook to drop some comments where a Wall 
Street publication would be likely to pick them up. 
With that his preliminary plan was as well laid as he 
could hope. 

The whole affair was as purely gambling as any- 
thing he had ever put his hand to, but the Virginian 
was used to taking chances. It was now the tenth of 
October. The Water Kelpie was to steam with her 
company on the twelfth. As part of his stake in the 
game Carter made a trip down the Long Island shore 
and purchased an old gasolene oyster boat. Not a 
craft to awaken a thrill of pride in the yachtsman’s 
breast was his new acquisition. Broad in the beam and 
broad in the nose, utilitarian, vulgar and noisy, she 
could do no better than six knots at her best. The 
fact that she had been newly painted white and that 
her engine was in fairly good shape were her best 
points to her new owner. 

On the morning of October 1 2 Carter sent his trunk 


124 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


to Bidwcll’s home and later called the insurance presi- 
dent on the telephone. 

“Still coming, Carteret?” 

“I’ll be with you.” 

“Shall we hold the Water Kelpie at the pier?” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be there in time. I hope you 
have the thousand with you.” 

As Carter headed out along the south shore in his 
oyster boat on the afternoon of the twelfth he amused 
himself with an armful of the evening newspapers. 
All of them contained mention of mysterious rumors 
concerning Hicksville and Great Eastern. For some 
months the stock had been inactive, but with the open- 
ing of the market two days before it had jumped up 
three points. Later it had fallen six, to recover in a 
wholly inexplicable fashion. Talk of approaching 
dividend conflicted with prediction of a bad traffic 
statement, and Wall Street had hatched a brood of 
its strange tales, to the great delight of the para- 
graphed. 

It had been a windy, early fall, and Carter had 
counted upon weather favoring his purpose. As night 
drew in a fresh southeast breeze sent the old oyster 
boat wallowing heavily, and Carter headed back be- 
fore it. He wished to be able to face the sea some- 
where off Long Beach. After a time he picked up the 
lights of Coney Island. It was hazy to windward, but 
a luminous bank of clouds overhead made the sur- 
rounding expanse clear enough. To the south the 
long, powerful bulk of an ocean liner, studded with 
twinkling points, swept in toward the Narrows. An- 


A CUTLASS IN HAND 


125 


Other was coming from further east. Two ocean- 
going tugs conveying a massive clump of lighters 
plunged sullenly and ponderously outward. He 
glanced at his watch by the glow of his cigar. It was 
eight o’clock. By this time he thought the Water 
Kelpie should have left her dock. 

His craft heaved and squattered among the waves 
like a hen in the sand. Her engine pounded on in- 
dustriously, missing fire with amiable regularity. It 
came cold, and Carter had recourse to an overcoat of 
ancient vintage which he had had the forethought to 
bring. He made a nest for himself near the wheel 
with an old awning dragged from a cubby hole, and 
smoked cigars chain fashion. He would have a pleas- 
ant outing of it for his thousand-odd dollars and his. 
trouble, if nothing more. 

He ran in well past Rockaway, then turned once 
more. The southeast breeze was snoring comfortably, 
and the oyster boat staggered into it without too much 
effort. It occurred to him that with the direction of 
the wind it would be better to keep to the south, and 
he altered his course a little. He shipped a sea or two 
in the process, and began to find the adventure not so 
free from spice. About this time he began to watch 
the stretch behind him toward the harbor. 

It was well past ten o’clock and he was chilled, 
hungry and far from confident when he caught the 
red, green and masthead lights of a vessel slipping 
up from the rear, about a mile away. He sheered 
off south again. Soon he made out the glow of her 
starboard ports. She came on swiftly. As he watched 


126 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


anxiously, he suddenly became aware that he had mis- 
judged her course in the obscurity, and as a result of 
the loss of the sense of distance and direction due to 
his position close to the water level, the Water Kelpie, 
if it were she, would pass fully a quarter of a mile 
inshore from him. He headed about desperately, 
taking the sweep of the waves and soaked with sheet- 
ing spray. 

He raised a shout, but the wind drowned his voice. 
The oyster boat struggled laboriously on with her 
waddling gait. He understood, now, that his plan 
had gone awry. There was no possibility of closing 
the gap. He was caught in a situation that w r as as 
ludicrous as it was futile. Again he raised a cry. 
The vessel was nearly abreast of him, and he could 
make out the graceful outlines of a yacht, cabin ports 
brilliantly illuminated. He climbed to the little strip 
of deck forward, tore loose his one battered oil lamp 
and waved it wildly. Next moment even that failed 
him, for the light went out. He sat down sullenly 
on his bundle of awning. 

The yacht had passed when he sprang suddenly to 
renewed action. He caught up a wrench and knocked 
a flimsy locker door to splinters. Then he rolled the 
newspapers into a loose bundle, thrust them on to his 
little forward deck and weighted them against the 
wind with fragments. He was duly thankful that he 
was not dependent upon matches. His pocket cigar 
lighter was at hand, and in a moment he had kindled 
the paper at a dozen points. Still holding to the flap- 
ping papers that the breeze threatened to tear from 


A CUTLASS IN HAND 


127 


him, he kicked in the panel of another locker and 
added the splintered pieces. The flames flickered, 
flared and suddenly broke out wildly. He added more 
fuel, feeding the locker doors. 

He left the fire and picked up the useless lamp. 
He knocked out the glass, flattened the sides and 
stood with the reflector held back of the blaze, play- 
ing the rays as best he might toward the yacht, which 
was now well out from him. His own craft held its 
course inshore slowly, and the wind kept the shower 
of sparks clear of her over the bow. The gasolene 
tank was safe, well aft. He had no intention of allow- 
ing the fire to get beyond possible control unless his 
plan should not work. But in this, as in all things, 
he put forth every resource that came to his hand. 

Blinded by the fierce, leaping light, he could only 
penetrate the darkness ahead by running to the stern 
and shielding his eyes. He could see no alteration in 
the yacht’s course. He hurried back to the fire and 
resumed signaling with his makeshift reflector. Then, 
with a throaty whoop that set his pulses jump- 
ing, the yacht’s whistle sounded. Intantly he stepped 
back to the engine and slowed it to the last speed. 

The forward deck was all ablaze now, but he paid 
no attention to it. Out at the stern he could see that 
the yacht had swung widely to the south and was 
traveling at reduced speed abreast of him. After five 
minutes of waiting he decided to stop his engine alto- 
gether, taking a chance that the wind would not swing 
the craft head to. Then he caught a glimpse of a 
white object part way between himself and the yacht. 


US 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


He pulled the flooring aside, tied a stout cord around 
the plug in the bottom, which he loosened with his 
boot heel, and waited. 

The forward half of the oyster boat was burning 
when Carter, peering through the darkness, pulled 
loose the plug. Then he stripped off his overcoat and 
perched well out on the stern. The wind caught him, 
and his craft had swung into a dangerous position, 
with the sparks showering about the engine, when he 
made out a six-oared surf boat skimming toward him. 
Never was a more thrilling rescue. The oyster boat 
was plunging and wallowing helplessly, a foot of 
water in her. 

Just as Carter, pulled by friendly hands, stumbled 
into the surf boat the blazing craft swung head to 
the wind and a horizontal sheet of flame swept full 
upon the men. The boatswain’s shout was not needed 
to warn the crew of the danger of the gasolene. 
Thrusting off quickly they laid to their oars and 
started back to the yacht. Behind them the old 
oyster boat, in the grip of the fire from stem to 
stern, lit the widening space. Apparently the rising 
water had protected the fuel tank. 

“ A close squeak, sir,” said the boatswain, who 
stood at the tiller. 

“You may well say so,” returned Carter. “What 
ship is that?” 

“The Water Kelpie, sir. Mr. Stanhope’s yacht.” 

When they reached the vessel the Virginian sprang 
lightly to the lowered gangway. Curious faces lined 
the rail above him. At the top of the steps stood 


A CUTLASS IN HAND 


129 


Stanhope in yachting costume, with several men and 
women about him. He pressed forward as the res- 
cued man stepped on deck. 

“What happened?” he asked quickly. “My pilot 
seemed to think you set the fire yourself.” 

“So I did, Mr. Stanhope,” returned Carter, quiet- 
ly, stepping forward to where the light fell upon his 
face. “The engine had stopped and she was leak- 
ing badly, with a foot of water in her. I took the 
last chance I had.” 

“Well, I’m blessed,” cried the other, peering at 
him and holding out a hand. “Isn’t this — isn’t this 
Mr. Carteret, whom I met at the yacht club?” 

“The same,” answered Carter, returning the hand- 
shake, while exclamations arose from all sides. “Sorry 
to have given you all this trouble, I’m sure. It all 
comes of trusting one’s self so far crut in an open 
launch.” 

Stanhope brushed the suggestion aside with laugh- 
ing good nature. The women had withdrawn. He 
introduced the Virginian to the men, none of whom 
Carter knew personally. Bidwell was not in sight. 

“Come on, Carteret; you must be frozen and 
starved. We’ll have a little celebration of our timely 
arrival on the scene.” Stanhope led the way to the 
forward deck house, into the smoking room, and gave 
quick orders to silent stewards. Carter told his story 
of danger and shipwreck over the glasses, told it ex- 
tremely well. Stanhope and the others listened with 
interest and sympathy. The yachtsman watched the 
handsome, expressive face with approval. 


130 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“And now, Mr. Stanhope,” said Carter at the end, 
“if it’s not too much trouble, I’ll ask you to put me 
off with the pilot. I can get back in the morning.” 

“Mr. Carteret,” returned Stanhope courteously, “I 
have a very great favor to ask. I pride myself on 
arranging my cruises with great care. At the last 
minute one of my guests failed me — Bertrand Bas- 
com — perhaps you know him. He most traitorously 
withdrew, sending word that tiresome stock compli- 
cations would detain him. Now, see my predicament. 
We’re off for a month, and here we are with a gap in 
the company. Most providentially, most happily, we 
take you off a burning launch. In return for that 
favor I must beg that you will accompany us.” 

“Now, that’s very kind of you,” answered Carter, 
returning Stanhope’s smile. “But it would be poor 
return for your saving my life, I’m sure, to foist my- 
self upon you.” 

“Tut, tut ! I must really demand it, Carteret. Un- 
less, of course, you have some absolutely necessary 
engagement ashore,” pressed Stanhope warmly. 

The Virginian was forced to admit that he had no 
such engagement. 

“Then we’ll call it settled,” said Stanhope, beam- 
ing upon him. In the midst of the approving chorus 
a man stepped in from the deck and started on see- 
ing the little tableau about the table. 

“What’s this I hear about a ” he began. Then : 

“Why, it’s Carter et!” 

The newcomer was Bidwell. He came forward 
with outstretched hand and a stare of amazement. 


# A CUTLASS IN HAND 


131 


“Yes,” cried Stanhope, as the two men shook 
hands, Carter smiling slyly at Bidwell, “and, what’s 
more, he’s going to be one of us.” 

“But what shall I do for clothes?” asked Carter, 
perplexed. Bidwell rose nobly to the situation, re- 
covering with a gasp. 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, old man,” he an- 
swered. “I’ve some extra duds along that will fit 
you perfectly.” 

“I begin to feel sorry for Bascom,” said Carter. 


CHAPTER IX 


A PROFIT IN HEARTS 

It was not that the girl could not stir him, but that 
he would not let himself be stirred. So he told him- 
self. Robert Carter, running the gantlet of many an 
opposing force in his lonely scaling of the social 
heights, knew the masked batteries, the ambuscades, 
the sudden dangers that lurked behind the eyes of the 
woman he should look seriously upon. And he would 
most carefully avoid them. Again, so he told him- 
self. 

In his capacity as R. Pendleton Carteret, beginning 
to be known as one of the handsomest and most pre- 
sentable men about town, it was not surprising that he 
should seek to settle the matter offhand, once for all. 
He took a pardonable degree of pride in his ability 
to analyze his own affairs and the conduct of them. 
Throughout his remarkable advance upon the inner 
circle of society no one of his natural gifts had more 
surely contributed to his success than this, that he 
could turn a calm and critical eye upon himself at 
any moment. And as the eye had seen and the brain 
directed, so he had done. 

Here, then, was the strange thing. He had taken 
132 


A PROFIT IN HEARTS 133 

his decision to forget Marion Keith the night before, 
just as he would have decided to play a stock or cajole 
a friend or write a letter. And now it was the morrow 
and he had not forgotten. He saw her face peeping 
over his shoulder as he scowled at himself in the 
mirror. He saw it woven in the sunlight on the cur- 
tain and scrolled in the smoke from his morning ciga- 
rette. He shook his head, but still the face was 
there. 

He gripped this weakness and held it. He had 
played at sentiment, played gracefully or eagerly or 
desperately as the conditions demanded. But at no 
moment had he been aware of more than an actor’s 
sympathy with his part. In all matters he had ruled 
his own destiny, moving, speaking, even feeling at his 
own quiet demand. And here, here was treason in 
the camp. 

But he had had warning; he was ready to admit 
that. It was the sure warning, a signal caught from 
the flash in her eyes, that had led to the resolve after 
he had parted from her last evening. The signal had 
told him enough. He must keep away. 

It was a relief to remember that he was staying 
with the Percival Champneys at their Long Island 
home. The charm of life beneath that roof was that 
one need consult nothing beyond one’s own whim for 
amusement. He was minded to get into the open with 
this little problem and fight it out. He dressed hur- 
riedly in walking togs, passed others of the party on 
the veranda with a wave of his hand and struck into 
a steady stride along the highway. 


134* THE SOCIETY WOLF 

The girl was Marion Keith, daughter of one of the 
oldest families of Manhattan, with a hereditary claim 
upon society which its modest fortune in real estate 
could never have won for it in latter days. Carter 
had known her five months, having met her at the 
Pulsains’ and since then at many of the houses which 
were open to him. She and her mother frequently 
visited the Champneys, riding over from their own 
little summer cottage, ten miles to the north. He 
remembered now, with a sense of guilt at his blind- 
ness, that he had* scarcely left her side during the 
evening before. 

As he tramped he told himself at every step that 
it would never, never do. But the moment of self- 
revelation had left him distrustful, and he could not 
say it with conviction. He plodded on, arguing stub- 
bornly. Never before had he been made to feel that 
he might let himself slip beyond control. The fight 
went its course as he covered mile after mile. Sud- 
denly, with another shock, he looked about him to 
observe that all unconsciously he had taken the road 
toward her home. He smiled a little grimly at this 
discovery and went on toward the next bend in the 
road, promising himself with wholly foreign fury 
that he would turn back just short of the spot where 
he might glimpse the house. Decidedly, this was a 
matter calling for his best attention. Then he came 
to the turn, and she was there ! 

She was standing by the upturned hood of a rakish 
runabout, apparently contemplating murderous as- 
sault upon the engine with a formidable wrench. 


135 


A PROFIT IN HEARTS 

There was indecision in her attitude and helplessness 
in her grasp of the clumsy implement, but her brows 
were drawn straight with firm resolve. He stood a 
moment, then came forward hastily. 

“Please, the poor engine,” he pleaded, “has it of- 
fended so seriously?” 

“I did have designs upon it,” she answered, looking 
up quickly, with quick comprehension and no vestige 
of surprise. “It’s been misbehaving dreadfully.” 

Marion Keith made a wholly charming picture in 
her loose automobile coat, with the right sleeve rolled 
up to show a firm, white forearm, her cheeks healthily 
flushed and her chestnut hair tumbled by the wind 
into pleasing disorder. She was very young, but some- 
how she contrived in her manner and her conversation 
to avoid both youthfulness and precocity. Gray eyes 
sparkled now a moment, marking his amusement at 
the feminine attack upon things of iron and grease 
and power. Then a graver look came into them. 

“It simply must be fixed in time to catch the after- 
noon train,” she continued, bridging the unspoken 
part of further greeting. Carter recalled, with sud- 
den uneasiness, that frequently with one another they 
overleaped the unnecessary. 

“Do you know what’s wrong?” he asked, stepping 
forward. She shook her head. 

“It seemed to me that one of those bolt things was 
loose. I was going to tighten it.” 

He laughed and fumbled about the machinery for 
some minutes, then took a twist at the crank. The 
engine was obdurate. He repeated his unsuccessful 


136 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


maneuvers, and then tried the tank. Seating himself 
comfortably on the step he looked up at her. 

“It’s a very simple matter, Miss Keith, but rather 
hopeless so far as the afternoon train is concerned. 
You’ve run out of gasolene.” 

“That’s almost literally stupid, isn’t it?” she said 
slowly, but there was the tangible presence of some 
more serious thought in her voice. She looked away 
over the fields absently. 

“Must you catch that train?” he asked, taking in 
her motor garb. He was reconciled now to being with 
her, though something that thrilled within him would 
have laughed at the word reconcile. 

“No, it’s a letter,” she said. 

“Then that’s all right. I can walk back in time to 
catch the evening train. The conductor will mail 
your letter in town.” 

“That’s the strange thing,” she answered after a 
pause. “In face of this providential breakdown I 
don’t know whether I want to mail this absolutely 
essential letter. There’s a paradox, if you like.” But 
she did not smile. The shadow in her eyes was* 
deeper, with, it seemed to him, just the faintest hint 
of appeal. Something was troubling her. As he 
looked he grew sure of it. Her face was pale and a 
little drawn. Then he, too, unmindful of caution, 
bridged the gap of convention and empty conversa- 
tion. 

“Is there — is there anything I can do?” He knew 
how awkward, how impertinent, even, the words must 
have sounded to a third person. But there was no 


A PROFIT IN HEARTS 137 

third person, and the words came without calculation. 
His resolve, his boasted reserve, all the logic of his 
struggle, vanished into thin air. He was leaning 
eagerly toward her. She showed no emotion, but 
studied him intently. 

“Perhaps you can,” she answered slowly. 

“You may count upon me,” he broke out earnestly. 
Cold reason was whispering to him that he was taking 
a dangerous step, dangerous to his great purpose and 
to his peace of mind. But cold reason had little 
chance just then, when the breeze sweeping up the 
road fluttered her cloak and made it seem as if she 
were swaying toward him. Still she studied him. 

“It will seem incomprehensible, possibly, that I 
should tell you this” — she hesitated; it was not her 
way usually to hesitate — ’“but I think you will under- 
stand.” There was a touch of wistfulness beneath 
her girlish dignity. He nodded quickly, sympathetic- 
ally. 

“When I was very young,” she went on, “still in 
school, I wrote a very foolish note to a — to a man. 
It was a childish thing to do, but I did not know that 
it was — capable of misinterpretation.” She flushed a 
little, and again Carter nodded. 

“This morning I received a strange communication. 
It said that this foolish note of mine was in the 
writer’s hands and intimated that it — it could be used 
against me. I was directed to answer to a box in the 
post-office. This is the answer that I was going to 
mail.” 

“How much did he want?” 


138 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


Her color deepened. “Five thousand dollars.” 

“And you?” 

“What could I do?” She made a little gesture of 
dependence. “I have no money, nor the means of 
getting it. I simply told them so.” 

“Them?” 

“Oh, it could not be,” she said quickly. “It would 
be impossible to believe that of him. Some one else 
has possession of the note.” 

“Have you told your mother?” 

Her lips tightened. “If I could have seen my way 
to do so I should not have told you,” she answered 
simply. 

“Just one more question,” he said, rising, conveying 
to her by his attitude more clearly than words would 
have done that he had accepted the trust she had 
offered him. “Who is the man you wrote that note 
to?” 

She told him, and he recognized the name. Jerry 
Coskar had dazzled Wall Street and portions of 
Broadway with a brief, eccentric effulgence when he 
came into sole inheritance of a fortune a year before. 
Carter had heard of him of late in unsavory connec- 
tion. The Virginian had not the slightest doubt that 
Coskar would sink to trading upon the unthinking 
confidences of a child’s affection. 

“You need think no more of it, Miss Keith,” said 
Carter finally. “I will take the affair upon myself. 
I will walk back with you to your house and you can 
send some one for the machine.” She nodded, and 
they made the journey almost in silence. The pros- 


A PROFIT IN HEARTS 1S9 

pect of action relieved him. His cold reason had 
little fault to find with the antics of that something 
else within his heart when he parted from her. 

Carter took the late train to the city that evening 
and mapped out his plan during the ride. He must 
first find Coskar, track him to his quarters, learn his 
condition and see his companions. He must find some 
way to bring pressure upon him. It would not be dif- 
ficult, if reports had been true. Then, suddenly, he 
remembered when he had last seen the wastrel and 
that Coskar had been in company with a man about 
whose figure he had noticed a touch of familiarity. 
That recollection blossomed now, for it came to him 
that the second man had been Arnold St. Geoffry. 

Carter had never forgotten St. Geoffry. Since the 
frustrated elopement with Mrs. Champney the 
younger son of a fallen British house had played a 
very small and obscure part in the social world. Car- 
ter’s private information was that St. Geoffry eked a 
precarious livelihood by despoiling the butterfly youth 
that could be brought fluttering to certain “card 
clubs.” Meanwhile, he knew the Englishman for an 
unscrupulous schemer and his own implacable enemy. 
He returned the sentiment cordially. If St. Geoffry 
had a hand in this blackmailing plot, why, so much 
the better. 

He took up his post opposite the likeliest “card 
club” about midnight, trusting that he might find one 
of the men he sought after the reaping of the nightly 
harvest. It was well into the morning, though still 
dark* when he saw St. Geoffry saunter down the 


140 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


steps. The Englishman, in long black coat and opera 
hat, waited a moment in the street and was joined 
a minute later by another man similarly dressed, 
whom Carter recognized, with a sensation of triumph, 
as Jerry Coskar. The two walked eastward, in close 
converse, Carter following at a discreet distance. In 
the block between Lexington and Third Avenues they 
turned into an apartment house of very ordinary 
appearance. 

The Virginian stepped to the opposite sidewalk 
and w r atched for a light to show. The front of the 
building remained blank. With a quick look up and 
down the empty street he crept down the basement 
steps. The door into the cellar was unlatched, and 
he passed through, feeling his way slowly along the 
rough stone walls, around empty barrels and piles of 
rubbish. Ten minutes of painful groping through 
the darkness brought him to the passage into the 
yard. Above, on the third floor, two windows showed 
lights. 

With a light spring Carter caught the top of the 
fence and pulled himself up. It was the definite step 
into danger now. From this point he was nothing bet- 
ter than a burglar and must take his chances. But he 
meant to see'the inside of that third floor apartment. 
Standing up and reaching out with his weight on the 
wall of the building he was able to catch the bars of 
the fire-escape. After a short struggle he stood on the 
little platform. Before going any farther he provided 
for retreat by unhooking the last iron ladder from 


A PROFIT IN HEARTS 141 

where it hung and placing it in position to the ground. 
Then he started to climb. 

Crouched on the fire-escape landing at the third 
floor, Carter held himself well back and peered about 
the wall into the room. It was poorly furnished with 
chairs and a table covered with cheap baize, at which 
sat St. Geoffry and Coskar, facing each other*. They 
had thrown aside overcoats and hats, but retained 
dress attire. They were bent close over several slips 
of paper. Coskar was figuring with a pencil. Be- 
tween them was a little pile of bills and some silver. 
A gas jet flared overhead. 

Carter’s motive had been to identify the two men 
and their dwelling place beyond possibility of error. 
From that point he looked to be guided by chance, 
to either an opportunity to search their rooms or some 
kind of a clue to the whereabouts of the vital letter. 
He had not the slightest doubt that St. Greoffry had 
planned the blackmailing. He settled ‘himself on the 
platform to watch for the remaining half hour before 
dawn. 

St. Geoffry and Coskar were talking, but Carter 
could not catch their words. After a time Coskar 
pushed back his chair and waved a paper before the 
other with a gesture of finality. St. Geoffry nodded, 
rose, yawned and walked slowly to the window. Car- 
ter drew back to the verge of the platform. St. 
Geoffry’s shadow fell across the bars almost at his 
feet; presently it moved away, and again he ventured 
a look. 

Coskar had left the room. A faint glow through 


142 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

a door at the opposite side showed a short hallway. 
St. Geoffry was slipping off his dress coat, pausing to 
yawn again in the operation. He hung the garment 
carefully over the back of a chair. Then he unbut- 
toned his waistcoat, took it off and threw it carelessly 
over the coat. He picked a cigarette from a box on 
the table, lighted it leisurely and went out into the 
hallway, turning into another room, the entrance to 
which was beyond Carter’s vision. 

The Virginian followed St. Geoffry’s every move- 
ment and continued his inspection of the place with 
alert eyes. He could see nothing that might aid him. 
He held his post one minute, two minutes, then made 
ready to descend. As he turned away his glance fell 
upon St. Geoffry’s waistcoat. It was folded over the 
chair, with the lining outward. The inner pocket was 
visible, and Carter could see that it was held together 
at the top with an ordinary safety-pin of large size. 

His mind was still busy seeking adequate excuse 
for his precipitate act while- he was gently raising 
the window* and slipping over the sill. If St. Geoffry 
were in the blackmailing scheme he would naturally 
be its leader, since he would easily dominate Coskar. 
It was reasonable to suppose, moreover, that he was 
not the man to leave the letter in other hands than 
his own, and that he would carry it on his own person 
wherever he went. If he did carry it, where else 
could it be if not in the pocket so carefully secured? 

Carter was across to the chair in three steps. From 
the room beyond came the murmur of voices. He 
seized the waistcoat and unfastened the pin with 


A PROFIT IN HEARTS 


143 


nervous fingers. Inside was a thin black pocketbook. 
He transferred it to his own coat, hurried back to 
the window and flung himself out upon the fire-escape. 
In his haste he stumbled and his foot kicked smartly 
against the woodwork. He did not wait to close the 
window behind him. 

As he grasped the iron ladder he heard a shout 
from the apartment. Instantly he let himself go, with 
hands at the side of the ladder, dropping with torn 
palms to the second floor landing. He caught the next 
ladder just as a revolver barked above, and he heard 
the sharp spat of a bullet on the iron railing beside 
him. He went down the second ladder with small 
regard for hands or clothing. Swinging on to the last, 
thankful even in that tense moment for his foresight 
in placing it, he glanced upward a second while he 
slid to the ground. Two figures filled the open win- 
dow, and as he looked alternate splashes of red flame 
shot at him. At the moment he threw himself against 
the cellar door he felt a sharp twinge of pain in his 
shoulder. 

Through the dark toward the front he staggered, 
falling twice. Out on the basement steps he stayed a 
moment to see that the street was still safe, then 
dashed westward. Faint shoutings sounded from the 
rear. A light flashed on the first floor. At the far 
side of Lexington Avenue he turned to catch a glimpse 
of a lumbering figure running from Third Avenue. 
He hurried on, turned north and slowed to a walk 
when beyond all danger of pursuit. 

His own rooms were not far away, and he let him- 


144 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


self in with fingers so scored and lacerated that they 
could scarcely hold the key. He found that the bullet 
had glanced lightly along his shoulder blade, in- 
flicting nothing but a scratch. Then he took out the 
black pocketbook. It contained several folded papers 
and envelopes. One of these, well worn from much 
handling, was addressed in a graceful hand to Jerry 
Coskar. The enclosure was signed “Marion Keith.” 

The next afternoon he was once more on the road 
to the little Keith cottage, riding one of Champney’s 
bays this time, and once more he was telling himself 
that it was not that the girl could not stir him, but 
that he would not let himself be stirred. The calm 
light of reason, that very valuable asset, assured him 
that he had acted precipitately and without due con- 
sideration of the consequences, but promised him that 
he might be forgiven if he stopped right where he 
was with the affair. He yielded the point to reason, 
and meanwhile spurred his horse. 

She saw him long before he reached the gate of the 
short drive, and was there to meet him, cool and satis- 
fying in a simple white dress. The something that 
would not be the slave to reason within him thrilled 
to warmth at the sight of her. He swept off his cap, 
smiling, and without a word of explanation held the 
letter out to her. She caught it with a startled cry, 
staring from the paper to his face in wonder. 

“Mr. Carteret, how did you do it?” she breathed. 

“Perhaps we needn’t go into that,” he answered 
lightly. “By the way,” he went on, coming for want 
of better material to a question that had puzzled him 


A PROFIT IN HEARTS 145 

all the way out on the train, “why was it that — they — 
should have taken just this time to put their plan into 
execution? And there’s another queer thing, Miss 
Keith. Why should they have thought that you 
would, or could, pay them? I confess I don’t quite 
see it.” 

She drew back from him a little with trouble in her 
eyes. “Then you have not heard? I thought you 
knew.” 

“Heard? What?” 

“That I am to be engaged.” 

“Good Lord! To whom?” 

“To Mr. Osterman.” 

He glared a moment, then brought a clenched fist 
down on the pommel of his saddle. This, then, was 
what he had run his risk for, to clear away the 
obstacle that had threatened her marriage. He saw it 
all clearly. Osterman was one of the wealthiest men 
in New York, twice a widower, thrice the girl’s age. 
It was her mother who had engineered the affair, of 
course. Mrs. Keith would have no difficulty in recog- 
nizing the desirability of upholstering an ancient and 
threadbare name with a generous son-in-law. She 
had chosen Osterman, probably, because she could 
drive a hard bargain with him and because he was 
old. 

The girl had tricked him, played with him ! The 
letter would have been fatal, and he, weakened by 
that warmth in his heart, had been the dupe. At 
the thought he thrust out a hand. His fingers closed 
over the letter. She gave it to him mechanically, con- 


146 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


fused by the look on his face. Ready and insistent, 
there leaped into his brain the possibilities that lay 
in this little note. He could use it, first of all, to 
smash the arrangement with Osterman. It gave him, 
moreover, a hold on Marion Keith, if he used it 
cleverly. 

But he had forgotten the strange sympathy that 
lay between himself and this woman, while wild 
thoughts were forming behind his frown — thoughts 
that went hand in hand with the upspringing flames 
in his breast. She bridged the gap at a step. 

“I am glad you have it,” she said, with direct 
glance. “Now you know why I was not sure yester- 
day that I wanted to send them any answer at all.” j 

“You mean ” 

“Before it was they who were going to prevent it, 
and now it is you who will.” 

Dismay swept upon him like a sheet of icy spray. 
While she spoke he saw again what had warned him 
before, an awakening, a flash in her eyes, the signal. 
Ambition flooded back and the cold light of reason. 
Marion Keith had no money nor the prospect of any. 
He was still far from that unquestioned social emi- 
nence toward which his slow, careful efforts had 
steadily pushed him. Union with the honored name 
of Keith would not aid him. He would be nothing 
but a beggarly adventurer in the eyes of the world he 
lived for. All his calm power of judgment, all his 
intuitive power of analysis, awoke, alert, keen to aid 
him out of the position his folly had led him into. 


A PROFIT IN HEARTS 


147 


He was armored against her sympathetic under- 
standing now, as he felt for the right word. 

“Your mother ” he said slowly. 

And he had found the right word. No other could 
have borne down her challenging gaze, no other could 
have driven the color from her face, that had lifted 
proudly to his. She looked away, faltered — and he 
was safe. It was with a little sigh of relief, not un- 
mixed with unacknowledged regret, perhaps, that he 
struck a match against his saddle and held it against 
the letter. They watched it burn, and when there was 
nothing left but a corner he let it flutter to the ground, 
and they watched that, too, until it had crinkled to 
ashes. 

“I hope you will not become a stranger to us as 
Mrs. Osterman,” he said at parting. 

“I shall never be a stranger to you, Mr. Carteret,” 
she said softly, giving him her hand. 

And as he wheeled away Robert Carter knew that 
it had been given him to negotiate an escape more 
essential to the success at which he aimed than a score 
of mighty victories on the social battlefield. 


CHAPTER X 


A COURT CARD 

The picture flashed before him like a brief glimpse 
of landscape caught in a flicker of lightning. The 
night was raw and wet in the dripping clutch of the 
fog. Reflection of the blurred street lights showed in 
faint, dull streaks along the greasy pavements. Those 
who were still abroad hurried by, intent upon shelter. 
Robert Carter was covering the last block east toward 
Broadway at a sharp pace. 

As he passed the door of a large, exclusive hotel 
he was aware that two men had stepped out of an 
automobile that had just drawn up at the curb. They 
turned and assisted a third man down the step. All 
were muffled in long coats and wore silk hats. Carter 
glanced at the group and in the vague glow from the 
hotel portal he received a vague impression of the 
third man’s face. Then he had passed, the automo- 
bile door slammed, and the incident was over. He 
had forgotten it by the time he reached his car, but 
in the meanwhile he had lingered on the face. The 
casual thought came to him that the third man some- 
what resembled the Prince Augustus. 

Prince Augustus of Darmstadt had dawned upon 

148 


A COURT CARD 


149 


the social world a week before as the bright particu- 
lar event of a backward season. His visit was with- 
out diplomatic significance. He had come, it was 
said, as the result of long friendship with the Cov- 
ingtons, the present head of the family having 
chummed with him during student days at Leipsic. 

There had been a sad dearth of titles upon the 
gilded carpets that fall, a condition that bid fair to 
place the Prince in the position of the football for a 
social Rugby match. But the Covingtons, whose guest 
he was, had plans of their own and kept him close 
within their own circle. Carter had seen him for a 
moment at the yacht club and had studied him as he 
did all figures of importance coming within his ken. 
He had filed the Prince away as a handsome, bearded 
man of medium height, with strong face and demo- 
cratic manner. For the rest he had maneuvered an 
entire evening, without success, to obtain an introduc- 
tion. There was a group hedging the personage about 
to which the Virginian had never been able to pene- 
trate. 

Meanwhile, he had nourished hopes. It would be 
worth while to have some slight acquaintance with 
Prince Augustus, to be able to greet him at meeting 
or exchange a word with him now and then. He 
was convinced that the distinguished visitor would 
prove approachable and kindly. He had considered 
the possibility of utilizing Stanhope, who was close 
with the Covingtons, but a bald demand for presen- 
tation would not serve. The next large gathering at 
which the Prince would be present was the Mannard 


150 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


dance, set for the following Friday evening. He had 
been forced to give over his idea of making advances 
at that affair, however, owing to the unfortunate fact 
that he had not been invited to be present. 

He drifted from the Cafe Martin into the Mas- 
quanan Club in the evening four days later with Bird- 
sail Mannard, who had made one of the party during 
the cruise on Stanhope’s yacht. He was on good 
terms with Birdsall through his easy familiarity with 
things to eat, a matter that had cost him no little 
cramming and study. Birdsall nursed a single pas- 
sion for the table, and the Virginian had been quick 
to understand and master the necessary line of attack 
according to his invariable method. He had counted 
a trifle too confidently upon his intimacy with the 
tubby young man as an aid in obtaining an invitation 
to the Mannard dance. But he had seen, on consider- 
ing his disappointment, that the gastronomic enthu- 
siast would have little to say in preparing the list 
of guests. His department was the menu. 

It required slight cerebration to discover that some- 
thing lay uneasily upon his usually placid companion. 
Either Birdsall was under stress of mental weather 
or the qualms of indigestion brought that abstracted 
frown to his unaccustomed brow. Carter was a little 
curious. He had an idea that it might prove amusing 
if not instructive to learn the cause. It was not a 
difficult task. Birdsall was no match for the keen 
wit and deft touch of Robert Carter. 

“Oh, Lord!” he groaned at last. “Why shouldn’t 
you know if you want to, Carteret? I can’t see any 


A COURT CARD 


151 


objection, as long as you keep it away from the con- 
founded newspapers. The long and short of it is 
that the Prince has disappeared.’’ 

“What?” 

“Gone. Vanished. Blown away. Wiped off the 
map.” 

“Prince Augustus of Darmstardt?” 

“Yes, hang it all, who else? Did you ever hear of 
such luck? Here it is Wednesday, and we’re giving 
that affair on Friday. And won’t we be in a fins fix 
without him ! And just think of the supper I’ve or- 
dered! We’re done, Carteret, everlastingly done. 
Folks come in. ‘Where’s the Prince?’ Echo answers, 
‘Where?’ Big excitement, scandal, sensation. No- 
body stay for supper. And such a supper, Carteret ! 
I ordered it myself.” Birdsall smothered another 
groan somewhere within his large person. Carter was 
intensely interested. 

“But, man alive, this is impossible,” he broke out. 
“The Prince has a whole suite with him, bodyguards, 
secret service men, personal attendants. Some one 
must know where he is. Probably he’s just dropped 
out of sight for a few days. It’s a way these people 
have.” 

“You don’t understand, Carteret,” returned Bird- 
sall impatiently. “There’s the devil of a row over 
this thing. It’s a government matter already. His 
suite are all here, where he left them, clawing the air 
and shrieking by cable for the whole German army. 
The ambassador at Washington has stuck in an oar 
with all kinds of wicked intimations. The police 


152 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


haven’t been told yet because they’re making the 
most desperate efforts to keep it quiet, but there are 
a hundred government detectives on the job. Not 
that I care about the stuffy old Prince. Let him get 
us decently through with our dance and the supper 
and he can go to the bottomless pit for all of me. 
Oh, maybe my mother isn’t in a state of mind!” 

“When did it occur, this disappearance?” 

“It was last Saturday night. He went to a musicale 
at the Edgemeres’. You know how proud they are of 
their beastly little interior court, where you have to 
drive in one gate and out the other within ten square 
feet. Three rigs make bedlam of it, and there were 
sixty on Saturday night. Well, there was some de- 
lay in getting the Prince’s automobile up to the door 
when the guests were leaving, and about a dozen 
people were shouting for it. He was anxious to get 
away, and when his pet secretary, Hackenback, hur- 
ried up and gestured to the street, indicating that he 
had found the machine outside, the Prince followed 
him. 

“A few minutes later some one saw Hackenback 
running around the rooms, looking under the rugs 
and behind the curtains for his Prince. It seems that 
the man who had led the Prince away wasn’t Hack- 
enback at all, but a man disguised to resemble him.” 

“Kidnaping?” 

“So to speak.” 

“And they’ve really kept it quiet?” 

“Sure. Most every one was gone from the Edge- 
meres’ before the thing was straightened out. The 


A COURT CARD 


153 


Covingtons know it, and they told mother on account 
of her dance, which was rather decent. Not that it 
makes much difference. It’s too late to call the thing 
off.” 

Here was a bit of inside information ! Carter took 
a little mental excursion around the angles of the 
situation and found source for satisfaction. For while 
Birdsall continued to wheeze his woe about the sup- 
per the Virginian was busy with the picture that had 
been photographed on his brain during his walk on 
Saturday night: At the time he had seen in the face 
only a resemblance. It had not even occurred to him 
that it might be the Prince himself. But now he saw 
the possibility. He had passed the hotel at about the 
hour when the guests were leaving the Edgemeres, a 
few blocks away. If the Prince had indeed been kid- 
naped those in the plot would not have attempted 
to take him far. 

Parting from Birdsall with some few well chosen 
expressions of sympathy as to the threatened catas- 
trophe, he made his way to the hotel. It was a large 
place, modern and expensive, catering chiefly to resi- 
dent families, though favored by wealthy Southern 
visitors. Its lobby was not enough of a public lounge 
to serve him, as a stranger, for a post of observation. 
He walked to his own rooms, packed a suit case and 
returned to the hotel in a hansom. While signing the 
book at the desk he glanced back over the names for 
the last two weeks, but they told him nothing. Judg- 
ing that the top floor would give him the best strategic 


154 ? 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


position he took a small room under the sun parlors 
at the rear. 

A carpeted nook in the lobby screened by palms 
held two writing-tables, and he established himself 
at one of them. From where he sat he could com- 
mand the elevators and observe all who used them. 
His plan was to watch and codify those who went in 
and out as a basis for inquiries. It was a tiresome 
business. All afternoon he held his post, apparently 
busied with a voluminous correspondence. After a 
time he moved into the cafe, but remained near the 
door leading into the lobby. The electric globes hid- 
den about the cornices of the rotunda had just re- 
lieved the gloom of fading day when he saw a man 
come through the revolving door and walk toward 
the desk. Struck by a suggestion of familiarity in 
the figure, Carter returned to his palm screen. The 
man who had just entered was standing near the 
elevators, waiting to ascend. He wore a long black 
mackintosh with a cape. 

As he turned the Virginian had a glimpse of his 
face and recognized it. He knew that dark skin, 
that stubby mustache and out-thrust jaw. It was his 
mysterious antagonist in the affair of the rosewood 
cabinet, the stranger who had engineered the plan to 
blackmail Bidwell and who had so nearly inflicted 
mortal injury upon Carter’s social aspirations. Car- 
ter had never seen him since, nor had he been able to 
identify him. But he felt instinctively that where this 
man moved something evil had its being. If the 
Prince were here, in this hotel, it was a fair chance 


A COURT CARD 


155 


that the gentleman with the stubby mustache knew 
why and how. 

He had thought to question the hotel servants if 
he discovered something to verify his suspicions, but 
he amended that resolve. He could not know when 
he might be approaching a confederate, and he could 
not afford to risk giving the alarm. The next after- 
noon found him again on watch, a raincoat and a wide- 
brimmed felt hat near at hand. The stranger might 
not return; might have no connection with the disap- 
pearance. But the course he now planned to pursue 
offered him the best and safest way to test the theory 
he had formed. “Mackintosh” did not appear at the 
same hour, but still Carter sat at his desk. The string 
of residents returning from business diminished, and 
the little orchestra began its first number. Groups 
began to move into the dining-room. 

Carter held his place until close upon nine o’clock. 
He was almost ready to abandon his plan permanently 
when the revolving door creaked and “Mackintosh” 
strode by. A second later the Virginian, his hat drawn 
low and his raincoat unbuttoned so that the flapping 
collar helped conceal his face, followed him to the 
elevator. The situation was favorable. There w r ere 
no women among those waiting, and three stout gen- 
tlemen in dinner jackets crowded into the cage ahead 
of him. He entered last, keeping one of the stout 
gentlemen between himself and “Mackintosh.” Then 
he moved over until he was just back of the stranger 
and almost in contact with him. The cape of the 
other’s garment was within easy reach, and just as 


156 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

the cage started upward he reached out a hand that 
held a little contrivance he had prepared. What he 
fastened to the edge of the cape was nothing more 
conspicuous than a very small black pin. He ran it 
loosely into the fabric and stood ready. 

As the elevator stopped at the ninth floor “Mackin- 
tosh” stepped out quickly, with Carter almost upon his 
heels. When they were both out of the cage the Vir- 
ginian dropped the rest of his contrivance to the floor. 
The stranger heard some one behind and stopped 
where three corridors met, glancing over his shoulder. 
But the Virginian had no wish to follow him, and had 
noted the general direction in which the other had 
started. Without pausing he swung into an opposite 
corridor. He rounded a turn, then stopped and 
looked back around the corner. “Mackintosh” had 
disappeared. 

Hurrying back, Carter began a sw T ift and silent 
search of the other two corridors, with eyes upon the 
carpet. Before the last room at the rear of the build- 
ing he stooped and picked up a tiny white button. It 
was fastened to the most delicate of black silk threads, 
and the thread ran under the door before him. At 
the other end of that thread was the pin he had 
fastened to the stranger’s cape. He listened a mo- 
ment, but could hear nothing from within. Then he 
pulled gently. There w r as no resistance, and he knew 
that the pin had been dislodged, probably when 
“Mackintosh” removed his garment. He drew the 
pin out through the crack in the door and made a 
quick inspection of the hall before retreating. 


A COURT CARD 157 

The room to which he had tracked “Mackintosh” 
was directly under his own, two floors above. The 
transom was dark. So was that of the adjoining room. 
The transom of the third room, however, was aglow. 

Carter dressed and went to Martin’s for a late din- 
ner. There he found Rirdsall Mannard, torn between 
his secret sorrow and his appreciation of a peach 
Melba. It appeared that there had been few develop- 
ments and that the detectives were still at fault, with 
small prospect of relief for the anxious Mannards. 

“It’ll all have to come out at the dance, I suppose,” 
mourned Birdsall, “and everybody’ll be so busy talk- 
ing they won’t think of the supper. We might use the 
excuse the Covingtons have been passing that he is 
visiting in the Adirondacks. But how can we, when 
every one knows this affair was just for him?” 

“Have you found out the motive of the kidnap- 
ing?” asked Carter. 

“Ransom, I suppose,” sighed Birdsall. “There 
was some kind of a shadowy proposition received to- 
day, I understand, though I don’t know what it was. 
The old man would be willing to stand his share if 
they’d let us have him for Friday night.” 

“I have an idea,” began Carter. 

“Keep it. There’s a hard winter coming,” said 
Birdsall, with a heavy attempt at jocularity. 

“I have a vague idea that I know where he is.” 

“Heavens !” the other exploded; then his stare gave 
way to a slow smile. “You surely did startle me.” 

“The only trouble is that if I get him just in time 


158 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 

for your affair to-morrow night I’ll have to come with- 
out any invitation.” 

Birdsall turned red with embarrassment and indig- 
nation. Carter had never shown such execrable taste 
before, he thought. Carter noted and laughed as 
the other rose. 

“It’s all right, Birdsall. Don’t get huffy. But if I 
do arrive with the Prince in tow, remember to help 
me out of the situation. Rally to my support, will 
you ? If I save your supper for you you can’t do less.’ 

Birdsall moved his chubby bulk off without an- 
swering. 

“And that,” said Carter to himself, “was an error. 
I’ve got to find the Prince now.” 

He waited until well past midnight. It was clear 
and cold, with a young moon to aid him. He had 
pulled his heavy brass bed close to a window and had 
fastened one end of a knotted rope about it. In his 
pocket were his revolver and a long screwdriver. 
Cautiously he let himself over the sill. It was a slow 
and dangerous descent. He had no skill in such tac- 
tics, and he spun and scraped the wall uncomfortably. 
He rested a moment on the window ledge of the floor 
below, then still more slowly resumed his journey. 

As he came abreast the upper pane at the ninth 
floor he could see that the shade was drawn. No light 
showed at the sides. He braced himself on the sill, 
taking a turn of the rope about his left arm to steady 
himself, and stooped with his screwdriver. Fitting it 
under the window he pried gently. He had come pre- 


A COURT CARD 


159 


pared to find the catch on, but the window came up 
readily. He raised it without noise. 

Balancing on one foot and holding the shade away 
he lowered himself into the room. Once safely on the 
floor he dodged under the shade with a quick move- 
ment and stood upright and alert. There was no 
sound in the room. A faint glow from the hall came 
through the transom, and he could see that he was 
alone. Garments on a sofa showed that the place was 
tenanted. At his left was a door into the adjoin- 
ing room. He turned the knoK gently. The door 
yielded. He opened it carefully for an inch and peered 
within. 

Carter was prepared for some confirmation of his 
suspicions — they had been well based — but he could 
not suppress an exclamation at what he now saw. 
The room was lighted by a shaded drop globe from 
the chandelier. Beyond the stream of light was a 
bed, and upon this, with wrists together above 
his head and wide, staring eyes toward the door that 
concealed the Virginian, lay Prince Augustus of < 
Darmstadt. 

Carter assurred himself that there was no on! else 
in the room and pushed open the door. Exactly oppo- 
site, on the other side of the room, was another door, 
standing ajar, opening into darkness. Looking down 
upon the helpless Prince, who followed his actions 
without a word, Carter saw that his hands and feet 
were tightly bound. He was pale and haggard, his 
collar had been torn off, his shirt bosom was wrinkled 
and stained, and his dress clothes were disarrayed. 


160 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


Apparently he had been left upon the bed since the 
night of his capture, and had had none too tender 
treatment from his captors. 

A glance from the eyes of the Prince told Carter 
that there was danger beyond the darkened door. He 
bent over the bed and slashed the ropes at wrists and 
ankles, then, revolver in hand, waited. Augustus 
carefully stretched his limbs before essaying to leave 
the bed. Then, weakly, but with caution, he raised 
himself and slipped to the floor, w r here he stood, 
swaying uncertainly. Carter took his arm and to- 
gether they moved upon their escape. 

They reached the open window in safety. Carter 
whispered a word in the Prince’s ear, handed him his 
revolver and began to climb. It was a difficult feat 
for one not hardened to such lofty voyaging. He 
made his way up by straight arm pull and sheer 
strength, sending a strange, thankful thought into the 
past, whence he had his broad shoulders and sinew. 
At the top he waited a moment. There was no sound 
from below. He twitched the rope. There was an 
answering twitch, and he began to pull. The Prince 
proved remarkably heavy, and he found it necessary 
to secure the advantage of each heave by a hitch 
around the bed-post. The other was within three feet 
of the top when he stopped a moment and looked 
down. And then in the phantasmal radiance of the 
young moon he caught a glimpse of a white cheek 
where black beard should have been. 

With one bound Carter was across the room and 
out into the hall, locking the door after him. The 


A COURT CARD 


181 

stairs were near at hand, and he almost fell down the 
two flights. Some instinct led him to try the third 
door of the suite first, and it gave before him. Un- 
mindful of possible enemies, he stumbled through it, 
through the Prince’s bedroom and into the room 
where he had made his entrance. On the floor lay 
the motionless body of the Prince. 

Carter shook him savagely and raised him. He 
opened his eyes and groaned. The Virginian lifted 
him to his feet. He did not even glance up to see 
whether the man on the rope had discovered his flight. 
Partly carrying his burden, he managed to reach the 
hall. The motion revived Augustus a little, and he 
pressed his hand to his head. Carter understood. 
The unknown man, “Mackintosh,” probably had been 
on guard and awake, had followed the Prince to the 
window and had stunned him with a blow. Taking 
the Prince’s place on the rope, he had proceeded to 
vengeance upon the rescuer above. 

There was no time to lose. He made his way to 
the stairs, still dragging the Prince, and started down. 
Augustus grew stronger as they went on, and the 
Virginian read with approval the square, firm lines 
that showed through the suffering on his face. At the 
top of the last broad flight Carter gave his orders, and 
the other understood. They took a long breath, 
leaped down the remaining stairs and fled across the 
lobby into the street. Before the astonished night 
clerk could start up from his nap they had streaked 
by him and had passed beyond the reach of his feeble 
yell. 


1 62 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


Carter and the Prince Augustus of Darmstadt came 
to a clear understanding within the next hour in the 
Virginian’s bachelor apartment. The Prince had 
fallen an easy victim to the plot. Once in the auto- 
mobile he had been warned by the pressure of a re- 
volver against his side that resistance was useless, 
and the revolver had continued its admonition while 
he was being taken into the hotel and up to the room 
where he was confined. “Mackintosh” had impressed 
upon him that his life depended upon his silence. His 
captors had said little to him, but he understood that 
their object was the payment of a large ransom for 
his release, either by the American government to 
avoid unpleasant results, or by his own family. 

“And now, Mr. Carteret,” said the Prince in ex- 
cellent English, as they came to the end of mutual 
explanations, “what can I do to show, in some part, 
my deep appreciation? By no very great stretch of 
the imagination you have saved my life. In any case 
you have prevented much evil to me and mine ; it may 
be, to yours also. What can I do?” 

Carter smiled calmly. “Of course, your high- 
ness, it is idle to deny that I would be most happy to 
see more of you during your visit. As you must know, 
social conditions in this country are not so stable as 
in your own. Here one may move in the scale. 
Frankly, your highness, you can be of help to me. 
As a man of the world you can understand me when 
I say that while enjoying your company I shall gain 
the only reward that is of value to me. Such is the 
only return you can make me for my slight services.” 


A COURT CARD 


163 


The Prince Augustus of Darmstadt wore a hat that 
was larger than six and a half in size. He returned 
the smile of the younger man. “So be it,” he said. 
“I do understand. Meanwhile, I am at your service. 
What would you have me do?” 

“I have,” said Carter reflectively, “an extra dress 
suit that would fit you perfectly, or can have it by 
night. I observe that your orders and decorations 
have not been disturbed. You have, then, full social 
armor here. To-night is the Mannard dance, at which 
you are expected. I also am to attend. We will let 
our friend ‘Mackintosh’ go for the present. We will 
stay here for the day, and to-night we will appear at 
the dance together. What do you say?” 

The Prince shook his hand. “It shall be as you say. 
The news of my escape shall be withheld until to- 
night, and to-night we make our re-entrance together. 
In the meanwhile something to eat and a little sleep 
would not come amiss if you can arrange it, for I 
shall hope to do you credit in my appearance.” 

“You shall both do and make me credit,” said 
Carter, laughing again. 


CHAPTER XI 


AN EDUCATIONAL INCIDENT 

There is a moral, a social and an economic force 
in the ordinary city directory that Robert Carter, 
social climber, could not overlook. It was brought to 
his attention one day while he was referring to that 
ponderous piece of literature in a corner drug store. 
Thereupon he was moved to reflection. 

He observed that though few and favored are they 
who may read their names in the social register, 
many and not all unfavored are they who may derive 
a similar delight from the directory. It was desira- 
ble, highly so, that R. Pendleton Carteret should 
some day appear in the little guide to the elect. That 
being out of the question for the time being, what 
about the larger and more common publication? 

He ran over the leaves. “Hemkin, Raoul W., pres., 

Wall, h. Madison Av.” Now, if a man 

must submit to be herded with the crowd it is just as 
well that he should hedge himself about with a degree 
of exclusiveness. There was a world of possibility 
in that “pres.” “Hemkin, Raoul W.,” might be presi- 
dent of anything, from a republic to a chess club, but 
164 


AN EDUCATIONAL INCIDENT 


165 


the single word “pres.” served to hold him aloft in a 
manner suggestive of dignity and reserve. He was 
aware that he distinctly wished his own name might 
carry some such attachment. 

And this is the manner, trivial as it may appear, in 
which Robert Carter started upon one of the most 
instructive experiences of his career. It was a small 
thing, perhaps, but he had made his remarkable ad- 
vance into the fair, guarded fastnesses of society with- 
out a passport chiefly by his attention to the small 
things. The suggestion dwelt somewhere in the cor- 
ner of his mind to bear fruit at convenient opportu- 
nity. 

The opportunity came one afternoon during a 
coaching trip at Lenox. Carter was the guest of the 
Mannards, not on the unsupported solicitation of 
Birdsall Mannard, be it said, for the Virginian knew 
exactly what value to place upon that fat-witted knight 
of the table. The word had come from none other 
than Mrs. Mannard herself, and had marked a dis- 
tinct and very real triumph for the aspiring Carter. 
He was sitting with young Janson Cutten on the back 
seat, and they had entered into casual discussion that 
ranged from golf to finance. The latter subject was 
to the fore. 

“Heard something about your father’s intended re- 
organization of the th Avenue road,” ventured 

Carter. In simple truth Carter had no more knowl- 
edge of the doings of the th Avenue road or old 

Henry Cutten than any other reader of the daily 
papers. But he was an adept at assuming offhand 


166 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

familiarity with any theme helpful in making conver- 
sation. 

“Oh, yes,” assented Janson languidly, “there is 
something of that kind in view.” 

“Welcome news to the stockholders, myself among 
them,” continued Carter. 

“So it would seem,” nodded the other. “From all 
accounts the company was in a fearful state. The 
governor thought something might be done with it. 
It was lopped off from the Panurban system, you 
know, by court order, and was flopping around in a 
helpless sort of way.” 

“What’s he going to do?” 

“He hasn’t confided in me,” answered Janson dryly. 

Then he went on, with a grimace: “He’s just be- 
gun my practical training, and I’ve not progressed far 
enough to be on the inside.” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean that,” said Carter hastily. “I 
was interested in merely a general way.” 

“It’s all right, old chap. I knew you weren’t aim- 
ing to pump me,” smiled Janson. “It’s fairly well 
known, I’ll go bail, how the governor and I stand on 
business. But since you’re interested at all, cast your 
eyes upon me more carefully. I’m slated for the new 
vice-president of the company.” 

He said this with such droll good humor and such 
frank appreciation of its significance that Carter broke 
into open laughter. Janson Cutten had been one of 
the wildest fledglings of the season two years before, 
and his appearance in any organization more serious 
than a dinner society at that time would have served 


AN EDUCATIONAL INCIDENT 167 

as a rare joke. It had been rumored that Cutten, 
senior, had taken in hand the regeneration of his son 
and heir recently. 

“Still, why not?” said Carter a moment later. 
“You’ll have to serve your apprenticeship some- 
where.” 

“I suppose,” returned the other doubtfully. “But 
I shall hardly find the duties arduous. The vice-presi- 
dentship of the th Avenue Railroad under Henry 

Cutten is not exactly the place one would pick out 
from which to reach a hand into the seething caldron 
of finance. I happen to know that he offered it to 
at least two others before he thought of me. He’s 
scratching for directors now.” 

Then Carter suddenly remembered the drug store 
compendium of popular information and the thought 
it had raised. Director! Why not? It would look 
extremely well, almost as well as “pres.” 

“Your honored father hasn’t cast his hook into 
these troubled waters for his directors yet,” he sug- 
gested. “I wonder if he knows that one of the secret, 
burning ambitions of my young life is to serve on the 
directorate of a street railroad. I’ve held a block of 
the original stock for a year now, and it’s brought me 
nothing so far.” 

It was the other’s turn to laugh. “Now, there’s a 
really brilliant idea. R. Pendleton Carteret, the mir- 
ror of fashion and the favorite of the salons, ventures 
upon the thorny path of industrial empire building. 
Your fate is sealed, old chap. I’ll recommend you to 
the governor to-night.” 


168 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“There’s no telling where the th Avenue Rail- 

road will end if it draws a few more heavyweights 
like ourselves into its service,” said Carter affably. 

Through some chance or mischance Carter had an- 
nexed a number of the th Avenue shares, the 

identity of which had never been lost in the various 
combinations of the city’s traction system. His cau- 
tious market operations had gone well with him, his 
balance was good, and he had no occaion to dispose 
of the holdings. He was thus given some shadow of 
claim to the position, and it came about that at a 
nominal meeting of stockholders a few weeks later, 
when Henry Cutten put through his list of officers, 
the name of R. Pendleton Carteret was on the list 
as a director. 

Beyond the slight tickling of his vanity and the sat- 
isfaction he took from looking himself up in the city 
directory, the Virginian drew no immediate result 
from the transaction. He had almost forgotten the 
hollow honor when Mrs. Wilfred Stilton recalled it 
to his mind rather unexpectedly. 

The charming Mrs. Stilton was a widow, and, con- 
sequently, empress of her own affairs, a fact which 
may have accounted in part for her marked interest 
in matters of business. She never made the mistake 
of introducing sordid topics in company that would 
have taken offense, but there were certain men in the 
active banking and operating sets who found her 
wholly fascinating in her coquettish assumption of 
familiarity with the movements of securities and con- 
ditions on ’Change. With these friends she discussed, 


AN EDUCATIONAL INCIDENT 169 

behind a fan, the latest rumor of dividend or consoli- 
dation, while more conventional, though perhaps less 
profitable, talk was under way elsewhere. Mean- 
while, she had astonishing success with her invest- 
ments. 

“And that rattletrap old street road of yours, Mr. 
Carteret,” was her unctuous challenge to the Virgin- 
ian. “Em sure you’re planning some surprising coup, 
now, aren’t you?” Carter parried the sparkling 
glance. He had a constitutional objection to feminine 
activity in masculine pursuits. But he recovered him- 
self the next moment. Mrs. Stilton was wealthy and 
well received. It was never his policy to allow senti- 
ment to interfere where advantage might lie. 

“You are flattering, but poorly informed,” he 
laughed. “I am on the directorate merely to lend re- 
spectability and dignity to that body. The chances 
are, Mrs. Stilton, that you know much more about the 
th Avenue than I do.” 

But the incident aroused a latent curiosity in him. 
He had attended one stupid meeting of the directors, 
at which a fixed number of phrases supplied by Cutten 
had been mumbled and voted through without com- 
ment. Now he was reminded that, after all, he was 
an officer of the company, and as such entitled to know 
something of its conduct. He had made a fair start 
toward education in the intricacies of wealth building. 
He was at least entered in the primary grade. And 
he was inclined now to resume his studies. 

In pursuance of the plan he visited the company’s 
office the next day. That is to say, he visited that part 


170 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


of the Baltic Building occupied by Cutten’s firm. The 

“office” of the th Avenue, strictly speaking, was 

under Henry Cutten’s hat. By deputation it was in 
possession of the particular clerk charged with the 
superintendence of the company’s books, for the great 
financier kept the actual management and routine at 
a distance. Carter sought out this clerk, and in his 
capacity as director demanded all the recent reports 
and statements. 

Accommodated with a sheaf of folders and some 
typewritten sheets, he settled himself in a corner of 
the room reserved for meetings of Cutten’s various 
directorates and proceeded to his first text-book les- 
son in modern finance. Ke had never read a state- 
ment before. Perhaps he was the clearer sighted 
for this very reason. He dug through the figures 
with the single purpose of mastering the inner mean- 
ing of cryptic phrases and confusing items. For a 
long time the whole thing was a senseless jumble. 
Then, with his natural capacity for analysis and his 
ability to absorb and pluck the meat from a subject, 
he began to make some headway. Presently, under 
expenses, he came to this line : 

Relaying track between th and th Streets. . $321,620 

Slowly this littie announcement took meaning in 
his mind. The distance between the streets named 
could not, at the most, be more than half ‘a mile. 
And it had cost considerably more than a quarter of 
a million to take up the rails and replace them with 


AN EDUCATIONAL INCIDENT 


171 


new ones within that space. Really, it was no simple 
problem, this conducting of a street railroad. To 
him, one of the uninitiated, for instance, this item 
appeared beyond comprehension. Yet here it was in 
cold print. It was clear that if he was to under- 
stand the matter at all he must begin with funda- 
mentals. He decided that the subject was altogether 
too abstruse to be mastered in one afternoon, and he 
took the papers home with him. 

Next day found him in the Astor Library, occupied 
with repelling books of statistics and State reports. 
By evening he felt that he had made progress. He 
had come upon a statement from another street rail- 
road, dated a few years previously. This other road 
had also found occasion to relay its tracks over a dis- 
tance of half a mile, and the total expense, so far as he 
could find, had been in the neighborhood of $22,000. 
Yes, beyond doubt, he was making progress. 

He made many other discoveries before he came to 
the end of his investigations, and the question took 
dim shape before him, shadowy, forbiddingly strange, 
but undeniably real. He continued his explorations. 
He questioned the clerk who presided over the books. 
He fell on the trail of a mysterious construction com- 
pany that had, supposedly, done the track work on the 

th Avenue road. He ran back into the ancient 

history of the road. He dug, wrought and squirmed 
among facts. Within a week he had all the necessary 
parts in place and was confronted with the astonish- 
ing result. 

Thereupon Robert Carter, practical idler, clever 


172 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


parasite and ambitious scaler of the social heights, 
dreamed a dream. Some years had passed since the 
Virginia country boy had won his first foothold to- 
ward the glittering goal. His successes had been many 
and easy. In every essential he had proved his quali- 
fication for the prize he desired. He had made himself 
one with these of the purple and fine linen; he had 
learned to live their lives, to think their thoughts. 
Throughout it all his supreme confidence in himself 
had prospered and waxed fat. 

And now he went a degree further and persuaded 
himself that he could combat these molders of for- 
tunes at their own game. Why should he mot? He 
had consistently used them, overreached them, ma- 
neuvered them in furtherance of his schemes for 
social advancement. Should he not prove equally 
their master at handling the forces and fortunes they 
juggled? His weapons lay ready to his hand, and 
the taste for power was sharp on his tongue. 

Decision once taken, he wasted no time in scruples. 
His first move was to seek Mrs. Stilton. She received 
him coquettishly and was quite willing to follow him 
into financial waters when he headed that way. Once 
started, he explained rapidly that he “and others” 

would take advantage of a bear raid upon th 

Avenue. Certain stories would be made public next 
day that would bring the stock to hopeless smash. 
It was unfortunate, of course, since he had been 
connected with the road. But the connection was 
merely ornamental, and since the raid could not be 
stopped he might as well profit by the harvest. He 


AN EDUCATIONAL INCIDENT 173 

had remembered her interest in th Avenue and 

had thought she would like to have a word in time. 
She did like it extremely. She was a thousand times 
obliged to Mr. Carteret for the information. She 
would certainly act upon it. How clever and thought- 
ful he was ! And they parted with the friendly feel- 
ing of fellow conspirators. 

Matters developed quickly. Carter himself placed 
heavy selling orders on the stock early in the after- 
noon, his resignation from the directorate having 
been left in the hands of the superintending clerk as 
a precautionary measure. His motive in calling Mrs. 
Stilton into his scheme was to increase the down- 
ward pressure and give body to the assault he planned. 
There were no others to whom he dared trust the tip. 
During the rest of the day he was busy in his apart- 
ments with the preparation of the manuscript that 
would be his 13-inch gun in the action. Having fin- 
ished it by four o’clock, he sent it out to be mimeo- 
graphed and ordered fifty copies. 

At eight o’clock his preliminaries were complete. 
He was definitely launched on his experiment. He 
w r as content. Each detail had been well planned. 
There would be a terrific explosion on the morrow 
and from the wreckage would emerge R. Pendleton 
Carteret in a new role, a commanding financial figure, 
playing only for the biggest stakes, a live factor 
among the giants of wealth. Pie recalled Janson Cut- 
ten’s grandiloquent phrase, “the thorny path of indus- 
trial empire building.” He was on that path, and he 
could see no reason to fear failure. 


174 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


He had his hand on the telephone receiver at half- 
past eight. Just as he was about to lift it from the 
hook the buzzer announced a visitor. He went to the 
hall door and opened it. Outside stood Jimmy Hope. 

“Well, here’s good fortune,” exclaimed Carter, 
welcoming him with outstretched hand and drawing 
him into the sitting-room. “Sit down, won’t you? 
Wait until I get the glasses. Haven’t seen you in 
months. What blew you here?” 

“Come to pluck your battered form off the rocks,” 
said Hope grimly, with more feeling than precision. 
He helped himself sparingly from the bottle and se- 
lected the easiest chair. “What an utter, confounded 
idiot you are, Carteret.” 

“Thanks,” said the Virginian calmly. “But why 
this sudden appreciation of my virtues?” 

Jimmy Hope was a very different person from the 
tremulous, dissipated wastrel that Carter had helped 
to a wife during his first adventure in the metropolis. 
The firm hand of the woman had kept him carefully 
to the narrow way, and her love had coaxed the good 
grain of him to the surface. He took hold of the 
situation now with assurance. 

“Question for question, Carteret. What ever in- 
duced you to embark on this utterly wild scheme of 
yours ? Do you want to be crushed offhand ? Thanks 
be, little Stilton had sense enough to sound Mrs. Hope 
on your exact eligibility as a tipster, and we heard the 
whole mad thing. I’m here to turn you back.” 

Carter rose abruptly. “Pardon me, Jim, but what 
the devil do you mean?” 




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AN EDUCATIONAL INCIDENT 


175 


“Mean? What do you mean? Here you are, an 
awfully decent chap, I’ll allow, but with no more 
knowledge of the big game you’re apparently hunting 
than the child new born. And of all things you have 
to start a raid on Cutten’s properties. And if that 
isn’t bad enough, you try to drag a woman along to 
help. Now let’s hear the whole thing from start to 
finish.” 

The Virginian was on the verge of a sharp retort. 
He had fallen into the habit of regarding Jimmy as 
a good-natured nonentity, infinitely inferior to himself 
in all things but money and rank. The tone of* con- 
descension in the other’s voice went hard, but he re- 
membered that Hope was his good friend and had 
come in friendship, and a certain uneasiness possessed 
him. 

“Well, if you’re really interested, Jim,”’ with a 
smile that was a trifle forced, “I think I can show you 
that I’m not quite out of my senses. The road is in a 
perfectly rotten state and I’ve found it out. It’s been 
crooked all the way through. I don’t propose to let 
that chance get away from me. When the facts are 
made public the bottom will drop out, of course. I 
propose to profit by it while exposing it. There you 
have the situation, and it’s sane enough.” 

“Good Lord!” exclaimed Hope, leaning back in 
utter amazement. “You — you are going to expose it ! 
You find it’s rotten! You propose to profit!” He 
silently apostrophized the ceiling with one limp hand. 

“Yes,” said Carter, warming to his case. “I know. 
I’ve been through the documents. I’ve got the proofs. 


178 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


I tell you that millions of dollars have dropped out of 
sight. Where are they? Personally I don’t care a 
rap, but I can stir up a line rumpus by asking.” 

“A rumpus! Yes. And one that will squash you 
like a fly on the pane.” 

Carter produced another smile. 

“Now look here,” said Hope, straightening him- 
self with sudden energy. “I won’t waste time telling 
you what a forsaken lunatic you are. But if you’re 
still amenable to reason listen to me. 

“I know your position in this town better than any 
one else but yourself, I guess. You’ve done well. 
YouVe made a place for yourself. You’re favorably 
known. If I’ve got you listed right that’s exactly what 
you’ve been striving and planning for all this time. 
But, my dear boy, your success has turned your head. 
This is impossible. You’ll be torn limb from limb. 
Cutten won’t stop with taking every cent you’ve got. 
He’ll drive you out of society. He’ll drive you out of 
New York. Oh, you don’t know. You haven’t an 
idea. He can pull strings on every one you’ve met. 
Every one. Yes, even me. You’ll be ostracized, be- 
sides failing miserably in the very thing you count 
on doing. It’s worse than madness. It’s simply 
chaos.” The visitor’s vehemence brought him to a 
pause. 

“But I have proof,” Carter put in eagerly. “I can’t 
fail. The stock will go under like lead.” 

“Wrong,” Hope went on. “Dead wrong. You’re 
the only thing that will go under. Why, man, Cutten 
and his ring can move any security any way they like 


AN EDUCATIONAL INCIDENT 


m 


as you would that matchbox. Do you think men like 
that would let you bother them ? Like enough they’d 
have you in Islip by night. But what’s the use? I’m 
here now, and I’ll keep you from going any further. 
By force if necessary.” 

“On the contrary,” said Carter, with a sudden sink- 
ing, “you’re too late. I sent the story to the news- 
papers by special messenger an hour ago.” 

“What?” shrieked Hope, bouncing in his seat. The 
Virginian nodded and lighted a cigarette. He handed 
the other one of the mimeographed copies on the 
table. Jimmy glanced it through. 

“Then it’s all over,” he groaned. “Good-by, old 
man. I’m sorry. I did my best.” He got up with an 
effort and held out his hand. “Let us hear from you 
some time. My wife will regret this.” 

Carter stared at him. Was the situation really so 
serious? Was it possible that he had made so des- 
perate a misplay? He was conscious, now, that he 
knew very, very little of the part he had chosen. 

“Sit down, Jim,” he said, laughing uneasily. “Ex- 
plain your meaning. It seems to me you’re a little 
previous.” 

Hope returned to the chair and took up the conver- 
sation with the conscientious air of one who lays a 
simple proposition before a child. “Carteret, my boy, 
you’re a thousand miles at sea. What possible busi- 
ness is it of yours how Cutten manipulates the th 

Avenue? The things he has done are done every 
day. A man like you has no more chance to stand 


178 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


in the way of them than he has to stop a sixty-mile 
train by getting in front of it. 

“With all your cleverness you’ve overlooked primal 
facts. If you want to get on, you absolutely must not 
pry into affairs that don’t concern you. It’s ruin if you 
do. Certain things are never mentioned or discussed 
in society. You’ve committed the unpardonable crime 
of aligning yourself with an attack upon the institu- 
tions that create wealth. That’s all I can say. I hope 
you understand.” 

And Carter did understand. He had been blind; 
worse than that, a traitor to his own purposes. Hope 
was right, of course. What call had he to interfere 
with the way this class made its money? His proper 
part was to hang upon the class, to humor it, to know 
it for what it was, but to keep that knowledge to him- 
self, to use its weaknesses and its vanities, but not 
to seek stand-up fights with it. His advantage must 
come at second hand. He was not built or equipped 
to wrest it in the arena. His battlefield was social, 
not financial. He saw his mistake now, too late, he 
reflected bitterly. 

“Well, you’ve done it now,” said Hope gloomily. 
“I suppose it’s too late to call back that messenger?” 

“Yes. The story is in every office by this time.” 

“And with your name on it, of course.” 

“No. I was just going to start telephoning when 
you came in. I was going to explain to each city 
editor ” 

“Hold on. Do you mean that no one knows yet 
where the story comes from?” 


AN EDUCATIONAL INCIDENT 


179 


“No. But what difference does that make? They 
have the story.” 

Hope had yanked him out of his chair and was 
waltzing him grotesquely about the room. “Still 
crazy,” he yelled. “You’re saved and don’t know it! 
Not a sheet will dare touch a line without some one to 
stand for it. They’ll shun it as they would the plague. 
You poor, doddering imbecile, you don’t see it yet ! I 
tell you the story is useless without a responsible au- 
thor. Get your messenger and buy him off, quick. 
This is too, too much !” 

They went over the situation calmly an hour later. 
The messenger, having returned, had been discreetly 
silenced. It appeared that he had delivered all his 
envelopes without incident and had left before being 
questioned at each office. It was a close call, but 
Carter was safe. 

“You have to close out all your deals and swallow 
the loss,” said Hope after a time. 

“It’s cheap at the price,” said the Virginian with 
full conviction. 

“And I should advise you in future to leave the 
manipulation of large enterprises to others. Cutten 
will hear of your sales, and he’ll be on the watch for 
you. But as it stands he has no pressing need to go 
gunning for you.” 

“Jim,” said Carter solemnly, “I hereby register a 
valuable failure and cut loose from ‘the thorny path 
of industrial empire building’ for all time. Here, with 
my hand upon it, endeth my first and last lesson in 
high finance.” 


CHAPTER XII 


A VOLUNTEER GARRISON 

A FIGURE stole from the shadow of the hedge, 
advanced two rapid and stealthy steps and flung itself 
upon the lodge keeper without a sound. The man 
fell from his chair and grappled desperately with his 
assailant. Robert Carter, held motionless by the sud- 
denness of the attack, stared at the grotesque, heaving 
mass in the moonlight. He was about to rush in 
with a cry when two more figures darted from the 
hedge and threw themselves upon the two. 

The struggle was short. Silently, as men who act 
upon a careful plan, the three subdued the one, held 
his arms behind his back and bound them. When 
they had him safe the first released his hold of the 
lodge keeper’s throat. There came a choking, gasp- 
ing breath, stifled the next instant by a blow. A 
handkerchief was stuffed into the victim’s throat and 
he lay quietly enough. The three stood locking down 
at him. Carter drew back swiftly behind the massive 
granite gate post. 

The note of violence thrust thus sharply athwart the 
peaceful pastoral with its jangling discord left him 
confused and unnerved. He had learned at the town, 
iso 


A VOLUNTEER GARRISON 


181 


where he was spending a week in retreat, of the 
arrest in New York of Paley Benham, president of 
the Matrix National Bank. Moved partly by lack of 
occupation and desire for a stroll, partly by some 
vague thought that he might learn further details, 
he had walked the two miles to Benham’s magnificent 
country home above the Hudson. 

He had been one of a house party at Benham’s 
place a year before. He had remembered that the 
long, white stone building at the crest of its sloping 
lawn was a thing of marvelous beauty on nights of 
clear moonlight like this. While almost certain that 
Benham’s family was abroad and that there would be 
no one on the property but the caretaker, he had 
allowed his impulse to carry him the lonely road to 
the gates. He had noticed the lodge keeper sitting 
over an evening pipe at the door of the lodge. He 
had even started forward, with a pleasant greeting 
on his lips, when the rush of the dark figure checked 
him. 

The voices of the three came to him, but even in the 
isolation of the vast estate they spoke in low tones 
and he could not distinguish words. He glanced up 
at the house w T ith a first instinctive thought to raise 
the alarm, but the pale, ghostly white of the fagade 
was blank. He sank to his heels, crouching in the 
blackest of the shadow. 

He could see after some minutes that two of the 
assailants had lifted the lodge keeper, who lay on his 
face, and were carrying him toward the lodge. He 
could not make out their faces. They were dressed in 


182 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


black, with wide, soft hats, pulled low. They disap- 
peared with their burden into the little dwelling. 
Presently came a flutter and then a steady glow of 
yellow light from within. It showed him a small win- 
dow on the side facing the road where he was hidden. 
The third and smallest of the men remained outside 
the lodge in the shadow, leaning against the door and 
looking in. 

Robert Carter debated his own part in all this. It 
was strictly none of his affair. His policy was never 
to engage in adventures not clearly dictated by his 
interest. He had little taste for risks, as risks. Who 
were these three? Burglars or tramps? Scholl, the 
lodge keeper, would suffer nothing more than a night 
of confinement at their hands. No, he was certainly 
not concerned. 

All this he argued when he had recovered from the 
shock of surprise. The fact that he was without a 
revolver completed the case, and the clear conclusion 
was that he had best betake himself quietly to the 
town and notify the constable. But a thought held 
him. It was a strange trick of fate that on the very 
day that brought Benham’s arrest his home should be 
entered. Dwelling upon this for a moment, he forgot 
the part of discretion and moved cautiously toward 
the window. The third man’s back was turned, and a 
few steps placed the corner of the lodge between 
them. The sill was well above his head when he 
stood upright, and he did not dare to raise himslf. 

“So all you’ve got to do, my friend, is to accept the 
matter in a philosophical spirit and wait patiently until 


A VOLUNTEER GARRISON 


183 


some wandering rustic comes to your aid,” said a 
voice. Carter felt a thrill of quickening curiosity. 
This was no burglar, or else he represented the very 
pink of the profession. Scholl made no answer, proba- 
bly for the ample reason provided by the handker- 
chief. Steps began shuffling and mounted the stairs 
with awkward halting. Apparently they were carry- 
ing the helpless Scholl up to his bedroom. The 
watcher outside entered, as if the removal of the lodge 
keeper was his signal. A few minutes later the steps 
descended. They had not reached the bottom when 
the one waiting below called out: “Did you find the 
keys?” The tone was thin and nervous, that of a 
very young man. 

“Not a key,” was the answer. There was a scrap- 
ing of chairs as the three took their seats. 

“But there must be one.” 

“Hold on, Ralph,” said the voice that had enjoined 
Scholl to patience. “Don’t get hysterical. He has 
some keys, all right, but you can hardly expect him to 
produce them, unless you care to apply the torture or 
something of the kind. He’s a faithful old beast.” 

“Then how are we to get in?” persisted the other. 

“Not much trouble about that, I guess.” 

“Do you think he saw me — recognized me?” 

“No. For Heaven’s sake, keep cool, Ralph. You 
give me the fidgets. Get a grip on yourself. We’ve 
got the whole night before us. There’s no one within 
half a mile, at least, and the whole thing is like picking 
up nuts.” 

The one who had not yet spoken broke in. The 


184 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


heavy timbre of his voice served as well as a personal 
history to inform the listener that his was a different 
type. “Y’ know the combination all right, do y’? 
Ain’t forgotten it, have y’?” 

“No,” said he addressed as Ralph. “I was afraid 
I might forget it, and I’ve written it down to make 
sure.” 

His questioner grunted ungraciously. Carter heard 
him move about the room to the accompaniment of 
the grunts and out into the little kitchen. Return- 
ing, he clattered something on the table. 

“There’s ham and bread and beer,” he announced 
during the operation. “Not much for a guy what 
had the whole place to himself.” 

“But — but — you’re not going to eat now?” stam- 
mered Ralph shrilly. 

“That’s what I’m doin’, m’ son,” returned the 
other with full mouth. “Ain’t no use goin’ empty on 
a job.” 

Carter could almost see the gesture from his cooler 
companion that restrained the reply of the excitable 
Ralph. Silence followed. The Virginian, keen to 
know the purpose that brought this ill-assorted band 
of thugs to Benham’s place, waited impatiently. 

“What time was he arrested?” asked the cool one. 

“At four o’clock,” returned Ralph. 

“Can’t possibly get bail before noon to-morrow,” 
was the comment. 

“He might get a message to some one and send 
them up here.” 

“You forget that the one we came on, at six o’clock, 


A VOLUNTEER GARRISON 


185 


was the last until eight o’clock in the morning. No 
use, Ralph, you can’t work up a scare any way you put 
it. It’s too easy. Hand me the loaf.” 

The discussion was closed, apparently, and Carter 
did not linger. He stole back to the hedge and along 
in its shadow. If he knew no more, he at least knew 
that these men were no common burglars and that 
their movements were timed by Benham’s misfortune. 
They meant to open a safe. What they would take 
therefrom was probably more precious to Benham 
than money or jewels. 

It was characteristic of the Virginian that he 
formed his decision when he gleaned so much of the 
situation. He would take a hand in this game. Ben- 
ham had been rather friendly with him, but it was not 
a matter of loyalty or gratitude. He knew Benham. 
for one of the most brilliant, dashing and successful 
financiers of the decade, sure to “come back” in spite 
of all checks. Here was a chance, providentially 
offered, to confirm a lifelong claim upon a powerful 
figure in the world of wealth. 

At the point on the hedge where the shrubbery cir- 
cled out about the lawn he turned toward the house. ' 
Screened from the lodge by the scanty fall foliage, he 
broke into a run. The windows on the first floor of 
the Benham residence were protected by storm shut- 
ters. He passed around the side to the porte-cochere. 
The arch under which the drive ran was built, like 
the house itself, of rough granite blocks. A stout, 
well-grown ivy grew from the lawn side. 

The vine gave him hand holds, and he found toe 


186 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


grips on the projections of the stone. It was a sharp, 
painful scramble, but he won to the roof of the arch. 
He made his way from there to the roof of the 
veranda and began to try the windows. He found 
them too safely fastened for his one tool, a penknife. 
At the rear of the house he boldly smashed a pane 
with the handle. Throwing the lock he opened the 
window and stepped inside. 

He remembered the arrangement of the house and 
felt his way along the corridor and down the stairs. 
In the wide entrance hall at the foot he had in mind a 
roomy bricked fireplace, fitted with huge brass and- 
irons and implements. His groping hand found the 
frame at the side and, hanging therefrom, the twenty- 
pound poker. Armed with this traditional household 
weapon, he was more confident. 

An hour passed before his intent ear caught the first 
intimation of the approach of the invaders. The 
sound came from the library, at the side of the house 
opposite that entered through the porte-cochere. 
There was a small door to the veranda there, he re- 
called. He hurried to the library. In the corner was 
a steep flight of stairs leading to a gallery that ran 
about the room. Standing on the third and fourth 
steps he was placed well above and within striking 
distance of any one opening the door. 

While he was taking his position, poker swung over 
shoulder, a steel tooth was biting and tearing at the 
door. Neither lock nor wood was strong. There was 
a splintering crash and it jarred open. The three men 
whose shoulders had been thrown against it were 


A VOLUNTEER GARRISON 187 

jammed in the entrance. There was an instant of 
silence, broken by Carter’s yell as he brought the 
poker down on the nearest head. Taken wholly by 
surprise the party huddled back with cries of terror, 
stumbling and falling over one another in their fran- 
tic efforts to escape this unseen and unsuspected foe. 
The Virginian saw fleeting figures on the lawn and 
stepped out to the veranda. 

A form lay sprawled at his feet. Stooping close he 
could make out in the dim light the thin face of a 
young man, scarcely more than a boy. With some 
difficulty he dragged his unconscious victim into the 
house and propped him against the stairs. With fum- 
bling fingers he bandaged the boy’s head, using his 
handkerchief and stanching the flow from a cut in the 
scalp. Then he closed the door again and made shift 
to push the heavy library table against it. In the 
darkness he could hear the labored breathing of his 
captive. 

Waiting there in momentary expectation of a re- 
newed attack and running over the means by which 
he might repel it, he bethought him that he had not 
yet searched this new companion. He had his re- 
ward, for in the boy’s hip pocket he found a revolver 
of small caliber, fully loaded, as he quickly assured 
himself. The possession of the arm lent him new 
courage. Fifteen minutes went by. The wounded 
youth stirred and groaned. 

“Better?” asked Carter, his own voice echoing 
strangely in the black void of the house. 

“Who — who is that?” came the faltering answer. 


188 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“Why, I’m the chap who gave you that clip on the 
head,” returned Carter amiably. “And a good job for 
you that you wore a stiff derby.” Apparently the 
other reflected painfully upon his cause for congratu- 
lation for some time. 

“I suppose you’re one of Benham’s men,” he said 
finally. 

“Quite right.” 

“Then it’s all up,” was the comment. 

“Right again, Ralph, my boy,” said Carter. An 
exclamation and a scrambling movement from the 
stairs told him that the word had told. “Sit down 
and keep quiet,” warned the Virginian. “The physi- 
cian has particularly insisted that you are not to get 
excited and that any exertion will be followed by un- 
fortunate complications. That’s better. 

“Now look here, Ralph,” Carter went on more 
pleasantly, “you’re a prisoner of war, understand? 
Just at present you’re in my hands, to do with as I 
please. You identify me as one of Benham’s men. I 
am, to the extent that I’m here to interfere with the 
game of you and your friends, whatever it is. They’ve 
gone away and left you. In the meantime, being in a 
position to dictate terms, I want to know what this 
precious raid was all about.” 

There was no answer from the stairs. 

“I can understand, of course, that you don’t care to 
tell me,” said Carter after a pause. “If I guess 
aright it’s not altogether to your credit. But it may 
be to your advantage. Let me make the situation 
clearer. I’ve got you, and I mean to keep you, if I 


A VOLUNTEER GARRISON 189 

want to. Before many hours some of the trades- 
people from the town will find the lodge keeper, or 
Benham’s messenger will arrive, or perhaps Benham 
himself may come. In any case, if you’re still here 
you’ll be behind bars by night for burglary. Ugly 
word, isn’t it?” 

A hard-drawn breath came from the stairs. 

“I thought you’d find it so. Ralph, my boy, I’m 
not a prejudiced person. On the contrary, I’m quite 
reasonable. I happen along here just in time to head 
you and your friends off. From what? I don’t know. 
But I want to find out. Now, let me hear the whole 
story. You can wager I’ll listen a whole lot more 
sympathetically than a judge and a jury will.” 

“How do you know my name?” asked the weak 
voice. 

“I was outside the lodge while the others were 
attending to the caretaker.” 

“Then Benham doesn’t know?” 

“Probably he only suspects, from the look of the 
thing. But I tell you frankly, Ralph, I’m in the dark, 
and your last chance to get out gracefully is to let me 
in.” 

“Well,” returned the other slowly, “I can’t quite 
place you, but if you really want to know I’d better 
let you, I suppose. I’ll do the best I can, though my 
head is going like a beehive, and it’s not a nice story. 

“I’m Ralph Nitton. I guess you know me,” he 
hastened on nervously; “most everybody does. After 
my father straightened that last scrape for me at Cam- 
bridge he found a place for me as Benham’s secretary. 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


190 

I lived here with Benham last summer. I tried to do 
the right thing, but Benham wasn’t any too consider- 
ate. I suppose I deserved all I got, and he couldn’t 
see that I was doing my best. 

“Anyway, I left him a month ago. My father let 
me live at home. He never gave me a cent, and he 
was always at me for the mess I’d made of things. I 
was in with a spending crowd, and — well, a fellow 
took me aside one day and showed me how I could 
make a lot of money. I held out at first, but after 
a quarrel with my father I accepted. I was wild to 
have the means to do as I liked, to be quit of one and 
another that had always held a whip over me. I 
had the combination to Benham’s safe, and the man 
knew it.” 

“Was that your soft-spoken friend who was so anx- 
ious to have you keep cool?” 

“Yes. He’s a sort of hanger-on and confidential 
functionary for some big people. The fight against 
Benham goes pretty far up, I guess, but I never heard 
who was back of it. They learned in some way that 
Benham was keeping a lot of his personal securities 
here. Benham didn’t see any risk in that, but it was 
good enough for them. 

“This morning it was found that a teller had cleared 
out with $100,000 worth of negotiable bonds from 
the Matrix National. They had charges of irregu- 
larity ready and there was a run on the bank. Before 
Benham could get away to grab his securities they 
had him under arrest. Then we three, the agent 
and a bruiser and I, were sent down. If it had gone 


A VOLUNTEER GARRISON 


191 


as planned Benham’s messenger would have taken a 
package out of the safe, all right. It wouldn’t have 
held Benham’s personal securities, but it would have 
held some of the stolen bonds, and the messenger 
would h-ave been arrested just as he delivered the 
package to Benham, with evidence of participation in 
the teller’s theft.” 

Carter whistled. “Truly a nice story,” he said. 
Then he checked a further question and listened 
rigidly. Something had rasped on the steps to the 
veranda outside the library door. He caught up the 
revolver and the poker. 

“Ralph,” he whispered, “if you know what’s 
healthy for you you’ll sit tight where you are and say 
nothing.” 

The shock of a heavy body hurled against the door 
punctuated his warning. The barricading table gave 
a foot, and through the opening came the flash and 
stunning report of a revolver fired at random. Carter, 
sure that Ralph had been hit, for he lay on the stairs 
directly in line, jumped back behind the scanty pro- 
tection of the oak newel post and fired three shots in 
rapid succession through the doorway. He was pre- 
pared for a rush, but it did not come. He stood ready, 
alert. There was no sound from the veranda. The 
drifting smoke left the opening clear, and he could 
make out nothing but the moonlit lawn beyond. 

At that instant he was conscious of a cool draft 
of air. He wheeled quickly, but heard nothing. A 
vague sense of uneasiness oppressed him. He did not 
understand this suddenly abandoned assault. He re- 


192 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


treated through the library, stepping with care. At 
the doorway into the entrance hall he dropped to 
hands and knees. He moved cautiously about the 
side wall, feeling and avoiding the furniture. Reach- 
ing the broad fireplace he crept into it. 

Something was abroad in the house, something that 
crawled with infinite deliberation upon the polished 
floors. He could hear the brush of a body somewhere 
near him. The soft, stealthy advance was from the 
direction of the dining-room beyond, but he could not 
place it more exactly. At times it seemed to be close 
to him. He began to dislike his adventure exceed- 
ingly. Open fight in hot blood he knew and could wel- 
come, but to crouch and await the approach of an 
unknown, ungaged danger, one that seemed to 
threaten each instant from the darkness — that was a 
thing to sap a man’s will. He grew weak and fearful. 
After a time the sound ceased. He strained his ears 
to catch it again. 

Then his hand resting on the bar of an andiron 
twisted sharply in his grasp under misplaced weight, 
the brass clattering against the hearth. The next 
second a huge flying mass fell upon him and he spun 
out into the hall, clawing and struggling with an as- 
sailant whose strength he knew at the first clasp was 
far greater than his own. 

He fought hard, was overborne and pitched head- 
long underneath. A monstrous thumb closed about 
his throat and a flashing shock ached through him. 
With the dim eyes of fading consciousness he saw the 
room leap into light for a second. A gigantic figure 


A VOLUNTEER GARRISON 193 

was clutching him. Above loomed the figure of Ralph 
Nitton, holding a flaring match in one hand and the 
heavy poker uplifted in the other. Then he passed 
into oblivion. 

When he came back to consciousness it was bright 
daylight and his body was a thing of pain in every 
joint. He was lying on a divan, with bandaged head. 
Ralph sat by him, smiling in friendly manner. In the 
front door, which was wide open, stood Scholl, shad- 
ing his eyes down the drive. A whirr of wheels and 
a shout came from outside, and a moment later 
Benham strode in. He began to question the obse- 
quious Scholl, but stopped in amazement on catching 
sight of the Virginian and his erstwhile secretary. 

“Well, old man,” said Carter, struggling up and 
laughing as the situation cleared before him, “I guess 
you’ll find your securities safe, after all.” 

“Good heavens, isn’t this Carteret?” stammered 
Benham, bewildered. 

“The same,” said Carter, “but more heroically 
known as a simple member of the garrison. Mr. 
Ralph Nitton here, whom I commend to your atten- 
tion, was the other.” 

Rapidly he explained what had occurred, offering 
an amended version that left few loose threads. 

“But Ralph,” exclaimed Benham ; “what’s he doing 
here ?” 

“Oh, Ralph’s an old friend of mine,” said Carter 
easily. “He knew I was staying in the town. He got 
wind of the plan to scoop your safe and arrived just 


194 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

In time to pick me up. We came here together and 
managed to hold the fort.” 

Benham grasped a hand of each of the young men 
in speechless gratitude. 

“By the way, where’s the lad who had me down, 
Ralph?” asked Carter. 

“Got clean away,” said Ralph, returning his glance 
steadily. “I thought he was done for when I hit him 
with the poker, but while I was attending to you he 
must have recovered.” 

“And the other fellow?” 

“No signs of him. Must have run after you shot 
him up. I think you winged him.” 

“Mr. Benham,” said Carter whimsically, “if you’re 
going to spend some years in jail you won’t need a 
secretary, but if you’re not, allow me to recommend 
this young man for the post.” 

“He can have more than that,” exclaimed Benham 
enthusiastically. “I don’t think I ever really knew 
you, Ralph, and if you’ll let me try I’ll undertake to 
bring your father around. I guess he never read his 
only son aright. As for jail, the whole thing depended 
on their hamstringing me.” 

And as Carter glanced from the man who was a 
towering giant in finance to the boy who would be one 
some day he was conscious of a good night’s work and 
the fact that he had won two more pegs toward his 
goal. 


CHAPTER XIII 


A FLANK ATTACK 

“I shall telegraph Maude Stuyver to come on 
Tuesday,” said Mrs. Demaar. 

“You don’t mean Tuesday, do you? That’s the 
day of the paper chase, you know,” her husband ob- 
jected mildly. 

“Of course. How stupid of me! Wednesday, 
then. You’ll stay over Wednesday, won’t you, Mr. 
Carteret?” she called. 

Robert Carter, occupied with a late breakfast, gave 
instant assent to his charming hostess, who looked in 
from the veranda with her question. She was se- 
lecting golf sticks preparatory to a foursome with 
Demaar and the Varicks. Others of the large house 
party had already scattered upon the vast estate, using 
the automobiles, the horses, the tennis courts, the 
shooting range, as suited each best. The Demaars 
had learned how to obtain the one thing they coveted, 
a constant contingent and a gay one in their huge 
house. 

“Dear lady,” said the Virginian gallantly, “I be- 
lieve the only way you can ever get rid of me is 
through eviction proceedings.” 

195 


196 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“As if I didn’t know you,” she returned. “You’ll 
be off some day on half an hour’s notice and we won’t 
see you again for six months. But you really must 
stay until Maude comes. Have you ever met her?” 

Carter had met her, though it was not a matter 
that lent itself to discussion. “I think we have been 
introduced,” he said briefly. 

“A wonderful girl,” put in Demaar. “So direct, so 
simple and wholehearted. I’m glad you’re going to 
have her, Carrie.” 

“Perhaps I’d better not if she inspires you to that 
kind of idiocy,” she answered tartly. “Fancy calling 
Maude simple ! Why, she has absolutely perfect con- 
trol of her two brothers. They jump through a ring 
or turn somersaults at command. No woman who 
can manage the Stuyver boys the way Maude does 
can be simple. However, she’s a dear. I’ll have 
James take the message when he drives down to the 
station.” 

Carter noted, and the first flash of a plan came to 
him. When the golf party was almost ready to start 
Mrs. Demaar looked in upon him again. “What 
have you in mind for this morning?” she asked. 

“A hammock and that rare edition of Montaigne,” 
he answered precisely. 

“Well, if that’s all I’ll trouble you to make my ex- 
cuses to Mr. Benham. He’ll be down before noon, 
and it would be a dreadful nuisance if I had to leave 
the game to receive him. Charles, the butler, knows 
what room to give him.” 

Carter, sauntering into the drawing-room a few 


A FLANK ATTACK 


m 


moments later, heard the voices of the golf players 
as they left the veranda, then the clear tones of Mrs. 
Demaar delivering orders to some functionary. “The 
telegram is on the table in the entrance hall. Don’t 
let James forget it.” A respectful murmur gave 
answer. 

Carter crossed quickly into the hall. Up to this 
instant he could not have said that he had a clear in- 
tention, but he acted now without hesitation. There 
■was a long table in front of the rough stone fireplace. 
On it lay a yellow telegram form bearing the message 
to Maude Stuyver scribbled in broad, soft pencil. 
There were no sounds to announce the approach of 
the functionary. Carter knew that he was the only 
one of the guests remaining in the house. Swiftly, 
with deft fingers, he drew a pencil from his pocket, 
set the rubber nub upon the paper, neatly erased a 
word and substituted another, imitating Mrs. De- 
maar’s hurried scrawl well enough. It was all done 
before the closing of a door at the rear warned him. 
He slipped into the library and picked 'up a book. 
A minute later Charles, the funereal butler, paced 
through the hall, picked up the telegram and de- 
parted. The machinery of the Virginian’s little plot 
was started. 

Benham came down in his automobile about eleven 
o’clock, and Carter greeted him on the steps. “Mrs. 
Demaar couldn’t wait for you, old chap, so I volun- 
teered. Just like her, isn’t it?” 

“I couldn’t quite say you’d do as well, could I?” 
laughed Benham, with just a trace of embarrassment 


198 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

in his manner as they shook hands. “But ir. is like 
Carrie.'” 

For the next hour conversation was rather mo- 
notonous, but as they were walking the veranda Cai;ter 
approached the subject which lay between them, and 
which, as he was conscious, his companion had delib- 
erately avoided. 

“And the country club?” the Virginian began. 

“I — I’m awfully sorry, Carteret, old boy,” sai d 
Benham, with real distress on his face. “I don’t seem 
to be able to make it go.” , 

“What’s the use of throwing the veil of convention 
about the matter, Benham, as we’ve been doing for 
the last two months? What’s gone wrong?” 

“If I’ve been silent it was only because I found 
unexpected opposition. A man doesn’t like to be told 
such things.” 

“Bosh ! I can tell you now the reason why I am 
not a member of the Greenbough Country Club. The 
name of it is Stephen Stuyver. He’s the only one on 
the membership committee who doesn’t favor me. 
Am I right?” Benham nodded. “I’ve known it all 
along,” Carter went on. “He’s too old-fashioned. I 
never could make any impression on him. You 
haven’t proposed me, then?” 

“No. I made preliminary inquiry, to avoid embar- 
rassment.” 

“May I ask you to propose me during the next 
month some time?” 

“Surely, if you want to bring it to an issue.” 

“That’s just what I want. Thanks, old fellow.” 


A FLANK ATTACK 


199 


For the last year R. Pendleton Carteret might have 
been discerned hovering along the difficult line of ap- 
proach that led within the gilded portals of the Green- 
bough Country Club. It was the wealthiest and one 
of the most exclusive among such organizations in the 
suburban territory. He had reached a point in his 
social campaign where clubs became necessary, and 
had finally selected this, with Benham as personal 
manager. For some time of late the conviction had 
grown upon him that Stuyver would prove an unsur- 
mountable obstacle. 

Tuesday, the day of the paper chase, brought a 
cloudless morning. The air was sweet and sharp, 
with a tang like sparkling wine, and the wind piped 
cheerily along the dry, brown Jersey hills and hol- 
lows. The trail had been laid for a ten-mile chase, 
with luncheon at the end. They were not to return 
until late in the afternoon. 

As the young folks, in high spirits at the prospect of 
perfect weather and hard riding, moved out to the 
drive where the horses were waiting, Carter scattered 
his attentions so successfully that he was able to avoid 
attaching himself to any one for the day. When 
the cavalcade started with hallooing and the clatter 
of hoofs he dashed into the van. The chase led along 
the road for half a mile, then over a strip of meadow 
into the brown and crimson woods. Carter, pounding 
close after the leaders, found himself hidden by a 
turn from those who followed. He swung aside from 
the forest track and dashed into the denser growth. 
A hundred yards farther he pulled up and awaited 


wo 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


until the whole noisy troop swept past. Then he 
made his way sedately homeward. Near Lawncrest 
he dismounted and pried loose one of the horse’s 
shoes. On returning he gave a picturesque descrip- 
tion of the mishap to the stableman. 

The morning train was due at the station, four 
miles distant, at nine o’clock. As he ensconced him- 
self comfortably in a bamboo steamer chair on the 
veranda Carter pictured to himself events that would 
be taking place there within a few minutes. There 
was .a combined lumber yard and livery stable in the 
village, with one rig. He remembered that distinctly. 
He had ascertained that there was no train back be- 
fore noon. The Demaars had a telephone at Lawn- 
crest, but it was a private number and he did not 
believe that Maude Stuyver knew it. Altogether, the 
situation promised well, and he settled to a peaceful 
hour with Montaigne. 

Upon the bright peace of the autumn morning there 
arose a sharp complaint. Its note was vague at first, 
but persistent. Carter sat up expectantly. The sound 
resolved itself presently into a metallic whine, 
with a dull, spanking undertone. Carter smiled. 
From the edge of the boxwood hedge that concealed 
the road a vehicle hove into view, turning with de- 
liberation through the gates and into the drive. It 
was the one ancient conveyance of the livery stable, 
with the one angular horse between the shafts and the 
one lanky driver on the seat. Back of him, very 
straight, very pink and very pretty, sat Maude 
Stuyver. 


A FLANK ATTACK °Ql 

The Virginian was suddenly aware that the game 
would be difficult. There was a look in the girl’s face 
that spoke warning. At the proper instant he de- 
scended the steps with the tolerant, good-natured 
smile he always wore in the presence of persons who 
did not like him. 

“Here already, Miss Stuyver?” he said. “I had 
heard you were coming.” 

The girl’s poise stiffened still more as she returned 
his bow. He held out a hand. She ignored it. “May 
I assist you?” he explained. She shook her head and 
stepped lightly from the dusty ark. The driver, one 
leg thrown over the side of the seat, grinned appre- 
ciatively at the little tableau. Miss Stuyver was not 
only angry but puzzled. She moved toward the steps, 
hesitated, and searched the verandas with snapping 
eyes. This was Carter’s chance. Slipping around to 
the far side of the dilapidated conveyance he lifted 
two suit cases from under the seat. The driver, twist- 
ing about to observe him, had a vision of a yellow bill 
held almost under his nose and an energetic hand that 
signaled him the way to the gate. He grinned, 
winked, seized the bill and lifted the whip from the 
socket. Suddenly there was a snort, a crash, a rattle 
as of falling slats, and the carriage lurched forward. 

“Who-a-a!” 

Miss Stuyver turned in time to see her outfit spin 
around the circle of the drive in a cloud of dust and 
gravel, with the lanky liveryman tugging in apparent 
helplessness at the reins and the angular animal 
making miraculous speed. The creaking, hammer- 


202 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

ing, protesting vehicle whirled dangerously around 
the turn to the road, making a dramatic and effective 
exit. Carter stared after the spectacle for a moment 
in silence. 

“Seems to be a runaway,” he remarked. 

Miss Stuyver said nothing. Carter could not blame 
her. He could feel, as he had felt before, that there 
are times when the convention that places a ban upon 
certain expressions for the use of the gentler sex comes 
hard. Her face had changed from pink to white, and 
her little mouth was firm set. She glanced again at 
the empty verandas, the lawn, the walks. There was 
no one in sight — no one, that is, but R. Pendleton 
Carteret. The need was too great, and she turned 
upon him. He still smiled calmly. 

“Can you extend me the slightest hint as to the 
meaning of all this?” she asked, and her voice was 
like the edge of a knife cut from ice. Carter took 
time to observe that he had never given her credit 
for being half so handsome as she was. 

“I should be delighted to give you any information 
in my power,” he bowed, picking up the suit cases and 
starting up the steps. 

Kindly leave them here,” she said. He returned 
obediently. “Do you know where Mrs. Demaar is?” 

At this moment I should say she was somewhere 
about six miles to the west, but ” 

“And Mr. Demaar?” 

\ “Yes, he’s along, too. You see ” 

“Then there rs no one at Lawncrest?” 

“No one but myself. What I was trying to say is 


A FLANK ATTACK 


203 


that there’s a paper chase on. My mount lost a shoe, 
so I returned.” 

Her eyes were suspiciously bright now, and her lips 
lost their determined hardness. She forgot, for the 
moment, that the one she addressed was R. Pendleton 
Carteret, a man who had been quietly swept into her 
own private little oblivion at a word from her broth- 
ers. “But this is incomprehensible,” she broke out. 
“I had a telegram from Carrie telling me to come on 
the morning train to-day. Here it is.” 

She opened a purse and drew out a folded telegram, 
which she handed to him. He glanced at it. “Most 
extraordinary !” he exclaimed warmly. “It says Tues- 
day and the morning train. Some more of Carrie’s 
forgetfulness. You mustn’t hold it against her, Miss 
Stuyver. She’s always doing something like this.” 

“Does that make it any less humiliating? When I 
reached the station there was no one to meet me. I 
meant to go straight back, but I would have had to 
wait three hours for a train. So I took the hack.” 

He permitted himself the corner of a smile and 
regretted it instantly. She stiffened again. “If you 
will permit me,” he said, catching up the suit cases 
once more, “I’ll escort you indoors. Charles will find 
you a room.” 

“Kindly leave them here,” she repeated. He re- 
placed them on the gravel and watched her uneasily. 
He had not counted upon any opposition. The object 
of his plan had been to have a quiet afternoon with 
her in a situation which would have thrown her more 
or less upon him for support. But a new resolution 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


204 

was forming about her mouth. She stooped and 
picked up the suit cases. They were heavy, as the 
Virginian had discovered. 

“I shall have to apologize for having taken up 
your time, Mr. Carteret,” she said in the same icy 
tone she had used at first. “If you happen to recall 
it, you might inform Mrs. Demaar that I arrived ac- 
cording to her request. Good-morning.” And she 
started away down the drive, head erect and preserv- 
ing what dignity of manner she could with the two 
cumbersome bags hampering her stride. He stared 
stupidly after her for a moment, then stepped quickly 
in pursuit. 

“But really, Miss Stuyver, I can’t allow this, if you 
will pardon the liberty. Where do you intend to go ?” 

“I am going to the station,” she answered slowly 
and distantly. 

“The station! Why, it’s all of four miles!” 

“I will not require any further information, Mr. 
Carteret.” 

Perplexed, disappointed and conscious of the ludi- 
crous failure of his plans, he followed her in silence 
to the lodge gates. There he halted her. 

“Just wait a moment until I get a motor.” As he 
started across the lawn she called to him : 

“Don’t get it on my account, Mr. Carteret. I shall 
not use it.” He turned back. 

“This is simple folly, Miss Stuyver. Let me send 
you some kind of a conveyance if my own presence is 
distasteful. One of the chauffeurs will take you over 
if you are still determined to go.” 


A FLANK ATTACK 


205 


“Thank you. I shall not accept a motor or any- 
thing else. That is all, I think.” 

He held her with a hand upon her arm as she 
started again. “I really cannot allow it, Miss 
Stuyver.” 

“Do you presume to detain me, Mr. Carteret?” she 
said scornfully. But he saw now that there was no 
arguing; saw, too, a means by which he might yet in 
some measure pursue his course. Without answering 
he possessed himself of the suit cases. She did not 
resist, but a flash of surprise crossed her face. “I can- 
not ” she began. 

“Allons, marche !” he cried gaily, and strode off 
along the dusty road toward the village. She hesi- 
tated a moment, as if disposed to combat his continued 
interference, then fell in step beside him, chin up and 
a careful expression of cold indifference upon her 
face. 

They walked a mile without exchanging a word. 
Stinging clouds of dust, driven before the fresh 
autumn breeze, circled and swept about them. The 
Virginian’s strength began to fag under the dragging 
weight of the bags. He stopped and set them down, 
rubbing his chafed palms together with a smile. “Just 
a little out of training, I guess,” he said cheerfully. 
“I must take up my sculling again.” He noted with 
relief that the deliberate hardness of her mouth had 
gone. There was just a tinge of sympathy in her 
voice as she glanced at his scored and reddened hands. 

“If you had let me do as I wished you would be 
normally comfortable at this moment.” 


206 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“And how about you?” 

She shrugged her shoulders. “Suppose you let me 
go on now. At least, I can carry them for a few min- 
utes,” she added as he shook his head. He had been 
studying this young woman, as it was his custom to 
study all persons, women most of all. It was the fact 
that he could win and charm most of them if he had 
leisure and opportunity that had led him to form his 
little plot. Something in her glance, in her manner, 
gave him here the intuitive touch of understanding, 
the key that he had missed up to now. 

As they walked on he began very gradually to ex- 
hibit the faintest limp. At first it was scarcely per- 
ceptible, though he felt her eyes upon him from time 
to time. When they had covered another quarter of 
a mile it was more pronounced. She halted sudden- 
ly and a pace farther he turned in surprise. His face 
was drawn, and the look of it startled her. 

“You are suffering,” she cried impulsively. He 
produced an obviously forced smile. 

“Oh, no ! My hands are a little raw, that’s all.” 

“But you are lame !” 

“Lame ? Absurd, Miss Stuyver ! Come, let’s push 
on. You’ll miss that noon train if we don’t hurry.” 

The warning silenced her, and they resumed the 
march. For some distance he bore himself carefully, 
walking with precision. Then at intervals the limp 
reasserted itself. He was thinking rapidly. They 
had covered more than half the distance. He had 
proved to his own satisfaction that he had struck the 


A FLANK ATTACK 


207 


right track with Maude Stuyver. An exclamation 
from his companion brought them to another halt. 

“Mr. Carteret, this is really far enough. I cannot 
permit you to make a martyr of yourself. You are in 
pain.” 

“Miss Stuyver,” he said, wearily but with firmness, 
“I am interested in but one thing. You wish to catch 
the train. That’s enough for me. The train it is. My 
own affairs do not enter into the problem. We are 
wasting time.” He trudged on again, making no ef- 
fort to conceal the limp. Once, glancing furtively 
toward her, he read pity and indecision in her face. 
They came to a sharp bend in the road. 

“There is a short cut here, Miss Stuyver,” he said. 
“The road turns below and leads over the bridge. By 
proceeding through this clump of woods we can cross 
the stream on stepping-stones and get to the road 
again. It’s a quarter of a mile saved.” 

He led the way without further comment, and 
Maude followed meekly. She was beginning to re- 
adjust her opinion of this handsome young man, who 
was so thoroughly a gentleman and was serving her 
so unselfishly. And she knew — she knew — he was 
suffering. She clenched her hands at the thought of 
it. 

The patlrwound out of the woods at the verge of a 
little ravine, where a silver-green brook twisted and 
danced among the stones. Carter started down the 
incline briskly. Maude did not quite see what ‘hap- 
pened. But suddenly he gave a sharp cry, his ieft 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


£08 

knee went limp, he stumbled, wavered and pitched 
headlong down the bank. 

He lay very white and still among the stones and 
dead leaves and waving grasses, one of the suit cases 
under him and one across his knees. He felt that he 
had done it well — rather too well. There was a cut 
on his forehead and sundry bruises upon his limbs that 
were not absolutely essential to realism. But he com- 
forted himself with the certainty that he had achieved 
an artistic triumph. Maude Stuyver had come nobly 
to the front. After the first terrified scream she had 
scrambled after him. Now she was bending over 
him, bathing his temples with a handkerchief moist- 
ened in the brook. He could hear her pitying, broken 
murmur, and the touch of her hands was soft and 
gentle. The scamp had the grace to flush a little 
under her tender solicitude. 

“Oh!” she exclaimed when he opened his eyes, 
“I’m so glad! Are you — are you badly hurt?” He 
sat up and began to feel his left ankle, wincing in a 
■way that wrung her. She watched him with wide 
eyes, from which all trace of hostility and defiance had 
vanished. 

‘Well,” he said weakly, “you’d better hurry if 
you’re going to catch that train.” She stared a mo- 
ment, not comprehending. Then: 

“That unkind, Mr. Carteret. You don’t think I’d 
leave you here. Is it very serious?” 

“No, it’s nothing.” His hurried manner was suffi- 
cient contradiction. “But — I’m sorry — it’s my bad 
ankle. I hurt it again this morning when I was 


A FLANK ATTACK 209 

thrown during the paper chase. I’m really afraid I 
can’t go on.” 

“Of course not. You mustn’t suggest such a thing.” 

“But there’s the train.” 

“Bother the train.” 

“With all my heart.” They were smiling now, the 
girl eagerly seeking amends for her indifference and 
coldness to the injured man who had been so brave 
and uncomplaining and had suffered through acqui- 
escence in her whim. He lowered the tension easily, 
leading the conversation away from their situation by 
skilful play. With his peculiar charm and facility he 
began a discussion of people and events in the world 
which was hers by birth and which he had forced and 
made his own. It was the hour he had counted upon, 
and he made the most of it. 

As he had divined, she was frank, impulsive, warm 
in her sympathies, quick to answer an appeal, and 
loyal in her friendships. What his chivalry and un- 
failing courtesy had won his ready tongue and tact* 
held as undisputed ground. After a time he looked at 
his watch. 

“You’ve missed the train. What’s to do now?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, looking blank. “What 
would you suggest?” 

“Suggest? You’ll find me ready enough at that. 
I’m one of the best little suggesters you ever saw. 
But no one ever follows the suggestions.” 

“I will,” she broke out. 

“You will?” 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


£10 

She nodded. “That’s the least I can do after what 
you’ve done and tried to do for me.” 

“Well, look here. Carrie isn’t to blame. She’s 
not responsible for these things — she really isn’t. 
When she learns what’s happened she’ll be absolutely 
and miserably unhappy. If you think you owe me 
anything, or are grateful, or anything like that — all 
bosh, of course — why, let’s get up a little conspiracy 
to save her punishment for her oversight. Shall we? 

He was like a big, pleading boy, and as he finished 
he winced pathetically and touched his ankle. “But 
what can we do?” she asked doubtfully. 

“It’s easy enough. James will be coming along here 
in the dogcart within a few hours to meet the mail 
train at three o’clock. You’ll be out of sight, and I’ll 
stop him and induce him to go back on foot, offering 
to get the mail myself. I’ll tell him I want to take a 
drive or something. Then in due time I’ll drive you 
up to the house. You came down on the mail train, 
and I found you disconsolate at the station. Carrie’ll 
be too tickled to ask questions.” 

“But can you get to the road?” 

“Yes,” he said, setting his teeth very firmly; “yes, 
I’ll do it some way.” 

“And you really want me to?” 

“I beg you to.” 

“It’s very nice of you to ask a favor for Carrie,” 
she said. She wondered how she had overlooked the 
fact that Mr. Carteret was perfectly delightful. 

“Is it?” he answered innocently. “Well, Carrie de- 


A FLANK ATTACK 211 

serves it.” After a few moments she spoke reflect- 
ively: 

“Do you know Stephen, my elder brother?” 

“Not — very well,” he said gently. “I don’t believe 
Stephen quite appreciates all my bright and various 
virtues.” 

“He never understood you,” she said directly and 
with so much conviction that he flushed again. 

“There is no one with whom I would rather be on 
friendly terms,” he observed with perfect truthful- 
ness. 

“I’m going to get Carrie to have him down in a day 
or two,” was her apparently irrelevant comment. 

And as Carter settled back with a sigh upon the 
two suit cases, a cigarette between his fingers, ready 
for a pleasant wait until James and the dogcart should 
come, he seemed to see the gilded portal of the Green- 
bough Country Club through the cloud of blue smoke. 
And the gates were open. 


CHAPTER XIV 


AN AMBUSCADE 

Carter could not be sure at first that it was Jerry 
Coskar, but he saw that the man whose face had put 
him on the alert slipped away toward the rear of the 
house through the brilliant, thronging rooms. He 
moved slowly in that direction, keeping* careful watch 
as he exchanged salutations or stopped a moment with 
an acquaintance. 

He had rather expected some difficulty. This was 
Marion Keith’s wedding night. Coskar could still 
make trouble over the schoolgirl affair she had had 
with him, and he was not so entirely discredited in 
the world of gold and purple that he no longer dared 
show his face in a crowd. The Virginian caught one 
more glimpse of the face in the second room and was 
convinced. When he reached the last room the man 
he was trailing had disappeared. And that meant 
action. 

He returned to the entrance hall. Dorothea Pul- 
sain was standing on the lower stairs. Dorothea was 
to be one of the bridesmaids, and he could not have 
asked a better ally. He stepped up just below her. 

“Where is Marion?” he asked eagerly. 

212 


213 


AX AMBUSCADE 

“With her gown,” was the calm young woman’s 
all-sufficing answer. 

“Listen, please. It is very important that I should 
see her. No. Please don’t waste time being cynical 
or superior. I’ll grant you all the sharp effects you 
could make without a struggle. There is something 
she should 'know immediately.” 

“Excellent,” returned Dorothea, without moving. 
“What should she know? That her romantic fiance 
is wearing a new chestnut wig in her honor, or that 
he will support his declining years to the altar on 
crutches?” 

“I knew you’d do it,” said Carter indignantly. 

“Well, what do you expect?” 

“I expect your aid. What if it is out of the w*ay? 
I wouldn’t have come to you if it had been an ordi- 
nary matter, would I ?” 

She regarded him with more interest. “You are a 
discerning young man, Mr. Carteret. If I understand 
you, you wish to hold parley with a girl who is just 
about to be married, who is now the most important 
person in the house, and who is at this moment the 
center of a whirling system of excited maids, relatives 
and friends. Is that all?” 

He nodded, and she broke her graceful pose against 
the balustrade. “Well, to do the thing properly you 
will have to use the rear staircase, as they do in all 
dark and romantic intrigues. You can take your 
chances with the servants.” 

She glided away toward the upper floor, and he 
turned back along the hall. It was an old-fashioned 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


214 

double mansion, in proper accord with the moss-hung 
name and ancient fortune of the Keiths. The house 
belonged to Marion’s crabbed old uncle, who had 
happily loaned it for the occasion, since Mrs. Keith 
had no adequate quarters of her own. He had es- 
tablished as a precedent condition to the loan that the 
ceremony should be held in the gilded rec'eption-room, 
where such affairs took place when he was young. 
Society found the aged house and the faded appoint- 
ments amusing and quaint. The Keiths were really 
“in,” whatever their eccentricity, so there was noth- 
ing more to be said. 

Carter found the rear stairs and climbed in the 
black well to the next landing, where he waited with 
the door held ajar. She came presently, and he 
stepped forward to meet her. In the faint glow of 
the hall lamp the sheen of white that fell about her, 
the fair, pale face, the firm, young shoulders — all her 
gracious figure seemed to hold a distinct radiance. 
Never had he seen her so beautiful, and a thought 
swept him for a moment — the thought that he had 
once read the signal in her eyes and that something 
had answered within him. He was sharply conscious, 
too, of the months that had passed since he had been 
with her, and of the fact that those months had been 
the last of her girlhood. Only for a moment, and 
the old, leaping flame was smothered once more. He 
found himself speaking before he had quite regained 
his balance. 

“Jerry Coskar is here,” he began abruptly. “Have 
you heard from him again?” 


AN AMBUSCADE 


215 


Her face was whiter than the high lights of her 
gown as she looked at him. He knew, with the 
strange understanding which bound him to this 
woman, that it was the sudden sight of him rather 
than his words that sent the color from her cheeks 
and brought one hand faltering to her throat. He 
repeated his question. She shook her head slowly 
and answered in a low voice : 

“No. IVe never heard from him since the time — 
you kept him from ” 

“Blackmailing you.” Carter took the word from 
her quickly and went on. “He was not invited, by 
any chance?” 

“No.” 

“I knew that, of course. But he’s here, and I’m 
very much mistaken if his backer and friend who 
aided him in the former affair is not within call. 
Fortunately they did not have an opportunity to 
recognize me when I took that foolish letter of yours 
from them.” 

“But they surely could not intrude here.” 

“I don’t know why not. Coskar isn’t one you could 
throw out. And St. Geoffry is hardly likely to show 
himself until it’s their cue to make trouble. Mean- 
while they’ve found some means of entrance, for I 
saw Jerry.” 

“Do you think they mean mischief, then?” 

“What else? Curiosity would scarcely draw them 
here at such a time. They are entirely capable of any 
move that will mean money. Speaking bluntly, I 
should say that you will hear from them before the 


£16 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


ceremony and that they will attempt to extort the 
promise of a large sum. Failing in that they mean 
to make a scene that will tear New York apart to- 
morrow. You best know how they can compass it.” 

She understood the danger now. She stretched out 
a hand to the wall for support. The helpless gesture 
thrilled him and the warmth sprang unbidden in his 
breast. If he let matters take their course he could 
trust the schemer, St. Geoffry, to make trouble, with 
a very fair chance in prospect that the marriage would 
be prevented. There was little to say in favor of 
that marriage. Osterman, the zinc king, was more 
than three times the age of his promised bride. Mrs. 
Keith and the millions formed the explanation for the 
match. And even now it might not be too late; he 
might have Marion himself. 

But interest, the cold, unwavering instinct of suc- 
cess which had borne him through his long and dif- 
ficult progress from terrace to upper terrace toward 
the social heights, did not point that way. He had 
fought that battle out once, and it was over. What 
cold interest further whispered he would not permit 
himself to hear clearly. He was fully aware, how- 
ever, that Marion Keith with the Osterman millions 

would be wholly desirable — and Osterman’s age 

Clearly the wedding must go on, and it must be his 
to aid it. 

“I should advise you, Miss Keith,” he said, with no 
trace of the emotion that had shaken him, “to tell Mr. 
Osterman the full details of that unfortunate incident 
with Coskar as soon after the ceremony as possible. 


AN AMBUSCADE 


217 


Let him know of that letter and of th^ attempts to 
victimize you. I do not think you need fear anything 
then. The danger lies within the next two hours. In 
the meanwhile, if you receive any communication from 
Coskar ignore it. And keep close in your room until 
the last moment.” 

She showed that she heard, but she did not move* 
The Virginian knew that she was waiting for some 
word, some gesture from him. He merely bowed and 
withdrew through the door of the rear staircase. As 
he started down he heard the soft rustle of her dress 
along the hall, and a strange little fancy obtruded that 
that sound was the last thing he should have of her 
before she passed into the keeping of another. 

Down in the crowded rooms again he renewed his 
search for Coskar. He even asked one or two young 
men casually if they had seen Jerry, but obtained no 
aid. After making the round of the rooms twice he 
came to the conclusion that the unbidden guest had 
found a place of retreat, and that close at hand. He 
was in the rear parlor at the moment and his glance 
was fixed upon the draped archway leading into the 
large conservatory. The glass doors beyond were 
open and the interior was dark. He walked over and 
stood close to the portieres. 

As he watched the animated, interweaving figures 
of the company with a conventional, set smile, his 
attention was concentrated upon the space behind him. 
He heard rapid steps, and as he moved off Jerry 
Coskar stepped swiftly through the conservatory door 
and mingled with the throng. 


218 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


It was a risk to assume that the coast was clear 
with his departure. Carter had a firmly settled no- 
tion that the wayward sprig of financial aristocracy 
did not possess of himself the resolution to carry out 
this invasion. St. Geoffry was probably not far away. 
But some instant knowledge of the plan was necessary, 
and he took the risk. He brushed against the cur- 
tains, turned into the shadow behind them and found 
himself in the cool darkness of the greenhouse. He 
was able to press in without too much noise behind one 
of the glass doors, where a bank of shrubs screened 
him. 

Coskar was not absent long. From his hiding 
place Carter saw the young man returning, glancing 
anxiously this *way and that as if in search of some 
one. The Virginian wondered if the one he sought 
could be St. Geoffry — or Osterman! Coskar ap- 
proached the doorway, sauntered a moment with a 
glance over his shoulder, and came in close in front 
of the hidden watcher. 

He passed on down the central aisle to the rear. 
Again Carter waited. A pale light pervaded the con- 
servatory, the light of luminous clouds above. As 
his eyes became accustomed to the dusk, peering 
through the fronds and foliage he could make out 
the bulging bay of the end of the structure. There 
came the sharp creak of a rusty hinge. 

Cautiously he drew out of his corner and began to 
work among the tubs and pots and crowded shelves, 
through the tangle of branches and blossoms. Sounds 
of scraping came from the bay. Carter stopped and, 


219 


AN AMBUSCADE 

parting the screen of growth, looked out. In the 
gloom he could make out a kneeling figure. One of 
the window sections, hinged at the top, was thrust 
outward, and beyond was the head of another figure. 

As he watched the figure outside flung an overcoat 
and a hat over the sill and climbed up and in. Both 
figures rose to their feet and propped the window 
wide with its side bar. 

“Has Osterman come yet?” The low question was 
from the new intruder. And the Virginian knew that 
he had been right and that his old enemy, Arnold St* 
Geoffry, was in the game. 

“Not yet,” answered Coskar in the same tone. 
“I’ve looked for him twice. IVe learned where 
Marion’s room is — southeast corner on the next 
floor.” 

“Good. Now get word to her. Here’s the note, if 
you have to use it. Bribe a maid, or, if necessary, 
force your way to her room. She must have the 
message before she starts down. Get the best kind 
of an answer you can, in writing, if possible. Never 
mind how badly you scare her, Jerry — you’re so 
damnably soft.” 

“Will you stay here?” 

“I’ll be here, and if it comes to a hitch I’m going 
to take part.” 

“You wouldn’t show yourself?” asked Coskar, with 
a* note of alarm. 

“Why not? No one I need actually fear, I fancy. 
However, I shan’t unless she won’t hear reason.” 

Coskar left ’him, and under cover of his progress 


/ 


220 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


through the place Carter retraced his own steps 
among the plants toward the door. He waited until 
a group of guests stopped, chatting and laughing, near 
the archway. Then, judging that St. Geoffry must 
have drawn back in the bay lest some were about to 
enter the conservatory, he gained the shadow of the 
curtain and from there the parlor. 

Carter made his way instantly to the entrance hall 
and drew up at the side of a tall, chunky-shouldered 
man, stiffly immaculate in attire and aggressively bar- 
bered in appearance. The Virginian talked to him 
rapidly, but with no apparent effect. He did not even 
glance at Carter, but kept a stony gaze fixed upon the 
chandelier. The murmured monologue continued for 
some minutes. At its conclusion Carter walked away, 
leaving the tall man to his stolid inspection of the 
electric bulbs. 

The Virginian was about to mount the rear stair- 
case again when a sudden idea arrested him, a pos- 
sible improvement upon the plan he had made. He 
moved once more through the crowd to the last parlor. 
To the left of the conservatory entrance were closed 
folding-doors, leading, as he supposed, into the dining- 
room. Quite casually, as if on some mission connected 
with the event, he opened these, slipped through and 
closed them after him. He found himself in the 
breakfast-room. It was empty and lighted by a single 
globe. Toward the front of the house it gave, in 
turn, upon the dining-room. 

On a massive sideboard stood a dozen pieces of 
heavy silver, Keith heirlooms. Carter wrenched open 


221 


'AN AMBUSCADE 

the bottom drawer of the sideboard and selected a 
small tablecloth. Holding this by the corners as a 
bag he carefully placed in it the smaller pieces of 
silver. He could not manage two heavy candelabras 
and left them in their places. From an upper drawer 
he took a handful of forks and spoons and disposed 
them in his hip pockets. Tying up the bundle care- 
lessly he slung it out of sight under the table. Then 
he returned the way he had come and started up the 
rear staircase. 

He heard voices before he had mounted halfway 
to the landing, and the timbre of one of them brought 
him the rest of the way three steps at a time. The 
door into the hall was ajar. Marion Keith stood 
where he had last seen her and in the same attitude, 
one hand against the wall and the other at her throat. 
Before her, leering into her face, was Jerry Coskar. 

“Do you want that? We’ll do it if you refuse — I 
swear we will. You’d best promise, I tell you ” 

Carter’s right hand shot out tensely and he gripped 
the speaker about the neck from behind. He swung 
Coskar back and completed his throttling hold, pin- 
ning the intruder against the door. Some one was 
calling the girl. There was no need of Carter’s ener- 
getic nod to send her, wide-eyed and trembling, back 
to her room. The Virginian dragged his prey out to 
the dark landing of the rear staircase, thrust him 
down on the steps and then relaxed his grip. Coskar 
gurgled for breath, but a warning pressure checked 
his cry. Carter sank beside him. 

“It’s no use, Jerry, it’ll be much more comfortable 


222 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


if you keep still.” Coskar ceased struggling, and 
Carter went on amicably : ‘‘Of course, my boy, it’s 
none of my business why you’re here or what you do 
after you leave. But one thing is dead sure. Your 
activities for the night are over. You can thank your 
family name that it’s no worse. Which is it, the 
police, or will you be quiet?” 

Jerry signified that the latter alternative would be 
his choice, and Carter led his captive downstairs. 
There were a few persons in the hall, but they did 
not notice the two men. The Virginian opened the 
door of a small closet under the main staircase. 
Coskar would have hung back. “It’s that or the 
police,” said Carter, and the other walked in. Carter 
turned the key upon him and put it in his pocket. 

Commotion and the rising hum of conversation 
through the crowd betokened preparations for the 
ceremony. Glancing up Carter saw a slim white fig- 
ure, clothed in radiance, above him. He hurried 
through to the rear, meeting and dodging the crowd 
that was moving to the big reception-room. The 
orchestra’s subdued harmony came to his ears as he 
reached the last room. He placed himself opposite 
the black entrance to the conservatory and waited, 
■watchful and ready. 

He knew that St. Geoff ry would move unless he had 
word from Coskar before the wedding march began. 
But he looked for a swifter climax than that. Sud- 
denly aware that he presented an excellent target 
alone in the middle of the room he drew a little aside, 
leaving a clear way from the conservatory to the 


AN AMBUSCADE 


223 


breakfast-room doors. A ringing tinkle of glass 
sounded from the greenhouse, then the thump of some 
solid body and the crash of overturned flower pots. 
From the black void of the archway between the por- 
tieres a man dashed into view, like a figure thrown 
sharply upon a blank screen. 

It was St. Geoffry, shirt bosom awry, clothes dis- 
arranged and stained with garden mold. He stopped 
suddenly in the flood of light and looked through the 
connecting rooms toward the front, where the wed- 
ding was now in progress. And then he saw Carter. 
He glared a moment without recognition. The Vir- 
ginian returned the stare calmly. The Englishman 
smiled. 

“I see,” he observed. “Quite effective.” 

Heavy footsteps came from inside the conservatory, 
and at the same moment St. Geoffry leaped across the 
room to the sliding-doors of the breakfast-room. Car- 
ter did not seek to detain him, but retained his posi- 
tion, guarding the reception-room. The Englishman 
thrust one of the doors aside and disappeared, closing 
the entrance after him. Then another figure flashed 
from the darkness of the conservatory. It was the 
tall, chunky-shouldered man to whom Carter had 
spoken in the hall. His immaculate attire had suf- 
fered with his barbered finish, and his face was 
flushed. 

“Which way?” he demanded. 

“In there, Tobin,” said Carter, pointing to the 
breakfast-room. “He can’t get away. How did you 
miss him?” 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


29A 

“Jumped for mer like a cat while I was- getting 
through the window,” puffed Tobin. “He’s a tough 
one. Lucky he has no gun.” 

“Did you place your men?” 

“One’s in the dining-room and another in the 
kitchen, as you said.” 

“The first is probably having his troubles,” said 
Carter. “You’d better close in.” 

Tobin, revolver in hand, slid one of the doors aside 
with extreme caution and looked into the breakfast- 
room. After reconnoitering a moment he advanced 
through the opening. But Carter did not follow. He 
ran into the conservatory, straight down the central 
aisle. In the bay the window was still raised, and 
over the sill lay St. Geoffry’s coat and hat. Carter 
took the silver forks and spoons from his pockets and 
placed them in the coat. Then, carrying his evidence, 
'he started for the breakfast-room. 

It was a strange spectacle that confronted him. 
Across the threshold of the dining-room was sprawled 
one of Tobin’s men, supporting himself on one arm 
and gazing with a stupid expression at his chief. 
There was a broad cut on his forehead. This was the 
guard who had stood between the conspirator and the 
front of the house, where the wedding party was 
gathered. Tobin himself was in the middle of the 
room with leveled revolver. 

On the opposite side of the table, with his back to 
the wall, was St. Geoffry. Over his shoulder he held 
one of the heavy silver candelabras, battered out of 
semblance to its graceful companion piece. With this 


AN AMBUSCADE 


225 


strange weapon he had attacked the prostrate detect- 
ive and with it he now stood at bay. Carter had 
always known the Englishman for a fighter, and once 
more he gave the reckless adventurer and criminal a 
mental tribute. 

St. Geoffry was still smiling, but his smile was not 
pleasant to see. His coat had been almost torn from 
his back in the struggle with the dining-room guard. 
He was breathing hard, and his glance slipped past 
Tobin to Carter with a malignant light. 

“Put that down,” said Tobin quietly. 

“Come and take it,” taunted St. Geoffry. 

“Put it down, or I’ll shoot,” continued the detective. 

“Oh, no, you won’t,” said the other with a sneer. 
“A fine scandal you’d make of it. Osterman wedding 
performed to the tune of pistol shots ? Try something 
else, my man.” 

“What’s the use, St. Geoffry?” said Carter, ad- 
vancing. “He’ll have to shoot if you try to get away, 
no matter what comes of it. You’re too wise to try 
a chance like that.” 

“I don’t know but what you’re right, my honey boy 
from Dixie,” said St. Geoffry after a pause. He low- 
ered his weapon. “And by the way, I’d like to know 
the meaning of this,” he went on in a loftier tone. 
“I find a man crawling in the conservatory window. 
He attacks me. I go for help and a second ruffian 
tackles me. Tobin, my friend, if that’s your name, 
what charge can you make against me?” 

The detective, uneasy, glanced at Carter. “No 


226 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


trouble about the charge, Tobin,” said the Virginian. 
“Here’s his coat, pockets stuffed with valuables. And 
what about this?” He stooped, drew the bundle of 
silver from under the table and clinked it with a 
smile. A flash of fury crossed St. Geoffry’s face. He 
swung up his candelabra with a scream and dashed 
at Carter. But the Virginian was too quick for him. 
From his stooping position he hurled himself forward. 
He struck St. Geoffry low with his shoulder and the 
futile blow wrenched the grotesque weapon from the 
Englishman’s hands. As the two span and struggled 
furiously Tobin caught St. Geoffry’s wrist and there 
was the snap of steel springs. 

A moment later Carter, slightly disheveled, but 
quite presentable, passed through the dining-room and 
into the entrance hall. From the closet under the 
stairs he released a pale and shrinking young man, 
whom he escorted to the front door. There, while a 
surprised flunky ushered out this strange guest who 
wore neither coat nor hat, Carter shook hands with 
him and assured him that he hoped to have the pleas- 
ure of seeing him again. 

As the Virginian turned back the closing strains 
of the Mendelssohn march came from the reception- 
room, and he entered to find the guests crowding 
about the newly married pair. Carter passed with 
the others and shook hands with Osterman, who made 
a surprisingly young and gallant figure as a bride- 
groom. The next instant he was holding Marion’s 
hand in his own, and as he murmured his congratu- 


AN AMBUSCADE 




lations a little pressure was his thanks. For the 
fraction of an instant the tiny flame flickered within 
him. Then a dashing and effusive matron swept him 
aside. 

“All best wishes, dear Mrs. Osterman.” 


CHAPTER XV 


A SHARP RALLY 

Robert Carter stood staring at the bulletin board 
in the corridor of the Wampum Club. And as he 
stood, with fixed gaze and expressionless, hard-set 
face, he was trying to adjust himself to the vital blow 
he had suffered within the hour. Ralph Nitton walked 
the length of the gold and marble hall and halted at 
his side without attracting his attention. 

“Well, what profit?” asked Nitton, after waiting 
vainly for some sign of recognition. “Looking for 
money or trouble?” The Virginian turned an ab- 
stracted glance upon the other and nodded. 

“Why duplicate your terms? As a matter of fact, 
my son,” he said languidly, “Eve been on this spot 
for some fifteen minutes, and I haven’t read a single 
notice on that board yet.” 

“Good,” said Nitton, who was all of six months 
younger than Carter. “You mean you’ve actually 
discovered a way of passing a quarter of an hour 
without the slightest exertion of any kind. Oh, hap- 
piness ! Let me in on it, old man,” he added whim- 
sically, imitating the Virginian’s pose and steady stare. 

228 


A SHARP RALLY 


229 


“No go, Carteret,” he yawned after a moment. 
“You’ve kept back part of the formula. All I can see 
Is a lot of confounded notices of governors’ meetings 
and lost scarfpins and watch fobs. I say, it looks as 
if every one had been sowing the place with articles 
of personal adornment, doesn’t it? There’s a sugges- 
tion, now. Perhaps one might obtain some amuse- 
ment from that.” 

“Are you really so hard put to it for a means of 
distraction?” asked Carter with a smile. 

“Desperately. Do you know, I haven’t been inter- 
ested in anything for three months. I never thought 
it would be so beastly dull to come into a fortune.” 

! He shrugged his shoulders with an air of weariness 
that brought a deeper curve to Carter’s lips. 

“Have you been watching the ticker to-day?” asked 
. the Virginian suddenly. 

“Good heavens, no! Why should I?” 

“Slate Mountain is off twenty points.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t know the signals,” said Nitton, 
shaking his head. “Ought that to interest me?” 

“Well, you’re worth about three million dollars less 
this afternoon than you were last night.” 

“Really!” exclaimed the other. “That’s grateful 
news.” 

“Unfortunately, I can’t adopt your refreshing and 
wholly admirable attitude toward the matter,” re- 
turned Carter quietly. “It so happens that about all 
I possess is wrapped up in neat packages of Slate 
Mountain securities. The thought that held me be- 
fore this fascinating board was how soon my name 


230 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


would appear there as dropped from membership for 
non-payment of dues.” 

“By Jove ! do you mean you’re wiped out?” 

“Practically.” Carter paused to light a cigarette. 
“You will observe that the whole thing is most annoy- 
ing. I had passed my days of speculation and with 
every virtuous intention I planted my modest com- 
petence in Slate Mountain as a safe and conservative 
place of storage. Whereupon I foreswore the pursuit 
of fortune and accepted my dividends with tranquil 
mind. And this is my reward.” 

“And you can take it as coolly as that?” Ralph 
looked his friend over with abject envy and admira- 
tion. Such nerve and poise in the face of disaster 
awed him a little and completely captured and domi- 
nated his errant imagination. He thrust out a hand 
impulsively. “Let me help, won’t you, Carteret? You 
say I’m involved, too. I’m glad of it. Perhaps we 
can do something together.” 

“Thanks, old man,” said Carter simply, dropping 
his tone of easy banter and returning the clasp. The 
loss he had suffered was fully as severe as he had 
given Nitton to understand. Without warning he had 
found himself hamstrung. Affairs had gone well with 
him of late. His membership in the Wampum had 
placed one more official seal upon his social aspira- 
tions. And now suddenly his secure seat sank beneath 
him and he must fight again for the first of all essen- 
tials to his purpose — the money with which to live his 
part. 

He sought out Gatz-Brown, the shrewd financier 


A SHARP RALLY 


231 


who had helped him out of more than one tight cor- 
ner, that evening and pressed him for some hint as to 
the situation. Gatz-Brown chuckled in all his round 
little person at the request. 

“Why don’t you see Vebbe? He lives here at the 
Wampum.” 

“It’s not official information I want. I’d like to 
know what they’re saying or thinking about this move 
in Slate Mountain.” 

“Two very different things. Most of ’em say its 
another attack by Granson. Heard of the old feud 
between Granson and Vebbe, haven’t you? He’s ham- 
mering it, I guess.” 

“What kind of man is Vebbe?” asked the Vir- 
ginian. 

“Big man. Succeeded his father as president of 
the Slate Mountain. Diogenes of the street.” 

“I suppose Granson could make his attack pay?” 

“Pay? Ha, ha! I should guess. Slate Mountain is 
a parallel and competing road to one of his pet ven- 
tures. If he could get it he’d wring the substance 
from its resources in a flood of water. He’d proba- 
bly wreck it later on for the benefit of his larger 
system.” 

“But where do the stockholders come in?” 

“They come in with Vebbe. He couldn’t be pried 
loose from the control with a crowbar.” 

Carter learned more during the week. The devel- 
opments in Slate Mountain afforded the sensation of 
a year. It was generally accepted that the move 
was a particularly vicious bear raid led by J. Thomas 


232 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 

Granson, and the old story of the quarrel between 
that dashing manipulator and Marius Vebbe was re- 
vamped for the edification of the public. In well in- 
formed circles it was believed that the road was per- 
fectly safe, and that the stock would ultimately re- 
cover. Slate Mountain had been a Vebbe property 
since it was built, and the control had never passed 
from the hands of the family and a group of close 
associates. 

But as each day brought a further sag uneasy 
rumors began to find currency even among the market 
wise. Vebbe, it was said, had permitted himself to 
make openly pessimistic predictions. It was even 
reported that he had advised certain friends to sell 
for a further decline, although this could not be veri- 
fied. The suggestion was beyond belief. 

Carter, when he had gathered this much, was not 
content to wait passively for further results. The 
squabbles of Wall Street were nothing to him. His 
future was seriously threatened, that future toward 
which every act and thought had builded through 
his long apprenticeship. With the direct impulse of 
a man who shatters convention and diplomacy under 
primitive fear for his life, he approached Vebbe boldly 
one afternoon in the smoking-room of the Wampum 
Club. The railroad president was a portly gentle- 
man of heavy manner and heavy face. His cloak 
of impressive dignity sat well upon him, and he was 
not an individual with whom one would lightly take 
a liberty. The consciousness of power, wealth and 
honored name hung about him. He glanced up in 


A SHARP RALLY 233 

1 cold surprise as the Virginian drew a chair to his 

• side. 

“It’s about Slate Mountain, Mr. Vebbe,” began 

• Carter rather diffidently. “I’m just a stockholder, 

• you know. But I thought perhaps you might give me 
r a word of advice.” 

I While he spoke he was uncomfortably aware that 
: Vebbe was not looking him in the face. The presi- 
dent’s eyes were fixed upon his shirt bosom. Carter 
glanced down instinctively, but his pearl studs were 
in place, and he resumed: 

“I was naturally uneasy.” 

“There is no need for uneasiness,” answered Vebbe 
distantly. “I look upon the condition as temporary.” 
Still he did not raise his eyes to meet those of the 
Virginian. Carter was interested. 

“Do you think that it will go lower?” 

“I cannot say.” The answer was frosty and there 
was no shift in the glance. Carter became restless 
and abandoned his attempt. When he moved away 
it was some time before he could rid himself of the 
feeling that there was something wrong with his im- 
| maculate shirt front. 

For the next four weeks he kept quiet watch upon 
Vebbe’s movements, tabulating his comings and his 
goings. One afternoon he dragged Ralph Nitton 
from the billiard-room with an imperative wave. 

“Is your automobile outside, Ralph?” 

“Yes. My racer is waiting.” 

“Then get me a coat and cap. We have a trip 
to make.” 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


234 

A few minutes later they were sitting in Ralph’s 
car, muffled against the keen November air. Just 
ahead of them in the waiting line of automobiles 
against the curb w r as a large machine with black 
limousine, unobtrusive and solemnly respectable. 
Presently it moved out of place and drew up before 
the entrance to the club. Almost immediately the 
swinging door gave exit to a stout, bundled figure 
that hurried across the sidewalk and entered the auto- 
mobile. The machine moved off. 

“Now, my son,” said Carter comfortably, “all 
we’ve got to do is to keep that car in sight.” 

Ralph threw over the levers and they glided out 
through the side street and into the press of Fifth 
Avenue traffic. Lights were winking up as they slid 
smoothly along from block to block. 

North and still further north they swept, to the 
end of the park, west to Broadway, and then again 
north. Ralph w T as puzzled. “Give a fellow a hint, 
Carteret,” he pleaded. “Who is it we’re dodging, 
and why?” 

“The gentleman in the machine ahead is Marius 
Vebbe,” answered the Virginian. “As to why, the 
only truthful answer is I don’t know. A whim, a 
chance, nothing more solid.” 

They lapsed into silence again, and still they sped 
to the north, past Manhattanville, over the rise of 
Washington Heights. It was dark now. Suddenly 
Carter laid a hand on Ralph’s arm, and the racer 
came to an abrupt halt. Three blocks ahead the 
limousine had drawn out to the left and was climbing 


A SHARP RALLY 


235 


a gentle incline. At Carter’s word they left the car 
in charge of the chauffeur and continued the chase on 
foot. Following the side road they could see the 
lights of a residence among the trees beyond. 

“Have you any idea where we are?” asked Carter. 

“This must be Granson’s place,” said Nitton. “I’ve 
often heard that he has some sort of a feudal hangout 
and a big art gallery out toward Inwood.” 

“Granson!” exclaimed Carter excitedly. “Do you 
realize what you are saying?” 

“No. What?” 

“Why, if what you say is true we’ve trailed Vebbe 
to the home of his hereditary enemy.” 

“By Jove, you’re right ! The Vebbc-Granson feud, 
of course. What’s he doing here?” 

“Let’s find out first if he is here.” 

They hastened around the curve of the incline. 
Ahead they could make out the brilliant eyes of an 
automobile before the low, vague mass of the resi- 
dence. Carter led his companion off the road, and 
they circled toward the rear. Cautiously they crept 
up through a crackling hedge and a withered garden. 
The house was surrounded by a broad, high veranda, 
and the windows toward the front on the first floor 
were above the heads of the watchers. They were 
brightly lighted. 

Carter drew off his automobile coat and caught the 
trunk of a tree that stood at the edge of the gravel 
path. A moment later he was settled in the fork. 
Ralph crouched below him, tremendously disap- 
pointed that he could not have a glimpse through the 


236 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

windows. By the glow from within he could make 
out the figure of the Virginian as he peered into the 
house. 

“Vebbe,” came Carter’s sibilant message. 

“And Granson, too,” he added a moment later. 
There was a period of silence, and then Nitton heard 
a stifled exclamation from above. 

“What is it?” he called up anxiously. 

There was a murmured response that he could not 
make out. Then Carter dropped beside him and, 
catching his arm, drew him swiftly away over the 
route by which they had come. Ralph questioned 
him eagerly when they were once more in the auto- 
mobile speeding south, but the other was strangely 
evasive. 

“What was going on ? What did you see ? I don’t 
think it’s decent of you, Carteret, to make use of me 
and then wrap yourself up in mystery like this,” 
complained Nitton petulantly. 

“It would do no good,” said Carter, driven at 
length to a definite answer. “We know the essential 
fact now. Vebbe is working with Granson. That 
means treachery, treachery to the Slate Mountain. It 
can mean nothing else. We’ve found the explanation 
for the decline, and that’s a pretty big piece of infor- 
mation. 

“But we’re handling dynamite, Ralph. Don’t 
tempt me to be indiscreet. I saw something, as you 
guessed, that seemed remarkable to me. It was more 
than that, it was astounding. I know that I can use 
it; I feel the significance it must have. But I don’t 


A SHARP RALLY 


237 


; see my way yet. Give me time. IVe got to work on 
: this. You have only a slice at stake, but I’m playing 
for my last cent.” 

At the opening of the market next day Slate Moun- 
tain fell three more points. Rumors had steadily 
gained ground that the road was in bad shape. The 
skeptical who had seen only a tactical movement in 
the first drop had begun to give ear to persistent and 
apparently well-founded tales of falling receipts and 
poor condition. It might be, as a very few intimated, 
that these reports were being skilfully circulated in 
the interests of Granson. But the appearance of dis- 
ease was convincing. 

Carter was standing in front of the bulletin board 
once more when he came to his decision. Ralph 
Nitton hailed him in passing through the corridor. 

“Well, what is it this time?” he began cheerily. 

“Ralph,” said the Virginian, wheeling on him sud- 
denly, “it’s trouble this time. Will you help me again 
to-night? I think I’m ready to act now.” 

“Right there with you, Carteret. Another expedi- 
tion?” 

“No, this little affair will be a set piece. First I 
want you to help me interest Stanchfield in what we 
know and what we suspect. He’s lost heavily on 
Slate Mountain, and he’s been worrying. We need 
him with us.” 

Together they tracked down Stanchfield. Ralph, 
who knew him better, opened their proposal. As 
losers by a mysterious and treacherous deal they were 
to work in common. Carteret had a plan in view that 


238 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


promised results, and would he lend a hand? Stanch- 
field listened sympathetically, though with little faith, 
and agreed to place himself at the Virginian’s disposal 
in making an investigation. 

On the second floor of the clubhouse the writing- 
room w r as approached from the main corridor by a 
w r ide hall that led through a little Moorish lounging- 
room, like a halfway station. The wall of the Moor- 
ish room toward the front of the building gave upon a 
narrow sun parlor. The doorway into the sun parlor, 
which was abandoned and unlighted at night, was 
covered by a heavy Oriental curtain. 

Just after the dinner hour Carter led his two ac- 
complices to this place and explained that they were 
to take their stand in the parlor, behind the curtain. 
From this position, while screened, they could watch 
every one who passed in and out of the writing-room, 
with the Moorish room as their stage. 

Stanchfield did not approve of this proceeding and 
was persuaded with difficulty to take up the post of 
a spy upon friends and fellow club members. Carter 
held him by promising that he would not be called 
to the curtain until the time came for the clearing 
of the Virginian’s mystery. Ralph was tremendously 
excited, but was content to obey orders. About nine 
o’clock the little playlet began. A page passed 
through the Moorish room toward the writing-room, 
calling monotonously: 

“Mr. Vebbe. Mr. Vebbe. ’Phone for Mr. Vebbe.” 

Some minutes later he came back alone, and pres- 
ently, following him, appeared the portly form of 


A SHARP RALLY 


239 

Marius Vebbe. Carter brought Stanchfield to the 
curtain, and the three watched breathlessly. The 
same thought struck each of them. Vebbe had 
changed much in the last month. His dignified, 
rather crusty air of importance and reserve had given 
place to a furtive, sidelong glance. His cheeks had - t 
lost their sanguine health and were sunken. He 
stooped a little as he walked. There was something 
subtly repelling about the man. 

He advanced into the Moorish room with shuffling 
step. In the center of the little apartment was a 
carved table bearing a lighted lamp, and the way 
led close beside it. His eyes came to the table and 
he stopped abreast of it. Stanchfield and Ralph 
followed the glance. Directly in the flood of light 
lay a book. It was closed and the place was marked 
with a valuable gold pencil which Nitton recognized 
as one he had often seen in Carter’s hand. The 
thick end of the pencil protruded beyond the leaves 
several inches. It was crusted with diamonds. The 
flash of the jeweled top against the dark wood of 
the table would have drawn the attention of any 
casual passerby. 

Marius Vebbe gazed at the pencil a moment, and 
as he gazed his lips parted. But no smile appeared 
upon his face. He looked quickly up and down the 
corridor. In the pendulous mouth, the staring eyes 
and slack cheeks the watchers read a strange pur- 
pose. Stanchfield would have started forward with 
a cry if Carter had not restrained him. Then one of 
Vebbe’s hands stretched out clawlike and closed upon 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


5240 

the pencil. Swiftly, furtively, he thrust it into his 
coat and shuffled on. 

Each of the three men avoided the pale face of 
his companion as all left their hiding place. Stanch- 
field swore softly to himself. Nitton stammered ex- 
clamations. It was as if they had assisted at some 
weird and degenerate rite, an impression that the 
barbaric draperies and shaded light of the room 
served to emphasize. Carter alone retained full 
control of himself. 

“I think,” he said gravely, “that we would better 
■hold our interview with Mr. Vebbe in his own apart- 
ments later in the evening.” 

They waited in the cafe, and after a time they were 
able to talk over the situation calmly. They were 
agreed that instant action was necessary and that the 
fate of the Slate Mountain hung upon the success of 
their mission. Carter caused their three names to be 
announced at Vebbe’s rooms about eleven o’clock. 
They entered to find him seated in a large armchair. 
He received them coolly and with some trace of irri- 
tation. After greeting Carter and Nitton he ignored 
them, addressing himself to Stanchfield. 

“Sit down, won’t you? Glad to see you.” There 
was no sincerity in the tone. “I’ll ring for drinks.” 

“Pardon me, Mr. Vebbe,” said Carter, stepping 
naturally into the lead. “We are here merely to talk 
business, and we will not prolong our stay longer 
than is absolutely necessary.” 

A dull flush mounted to Vebbe’s face as he turned 
to the Virginian. His miserable assumption of dig- 


A SHARP RALLY 


241 


nlty after what they had seen made him a ludicrous 
and loathsome object to his visitors. “I am not pre- 
pared to discuss business at this time,” he said loftily. 

“I am sorry,” said Carter, “but this is of the ut- 
most importance. We three are all stockholders in 
the Slate Mountain ” 

“I must insist,” said Vebbe angrily, with rising 
voice, “that I do not care to consider such matters 
at this time.” 

Carter rose, walked to the door, opened it and 
looked out into the hall. Closing it again he ap- 
proached Vebbe and stood before him. “Mr. Vebbe,” 
he said, “we do not mean to be harsh or unpleasant; 
but you must hear us. We know of your — weakness. 
We were in the Moorish room this evening when 
you passed through.” 

Again there came the repulsive loosening of the 
mouth and the stare in the eyes, the swift change 
they had seen there before. The man seemed to sink 
together in his chair. His hands fluttered on the 
arms. Then he peered up with a cunning flash. 

“In the Moorish room? No one was in the ” 

“We were behind the sun parlor curtain.” 

He collapsed completely. Stanchfield sprang for 
water, but Vebbe waved him ofl. Trembling, cower- 
ing, he glanced like a hunted thing from one to the 
other of the three. Carter hurried on to have the 
situation over. 

“Is this the hold that Granson had over you? Did 
he know that you were a kleptomaniac, that you 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


242 

couldn’t resist the fascination of jewels?” he asked 
rather brutally. 

Vebbe’s eyes wandered stupidly from Carter’s face 
to his shirt bosom and back again. 

“Speak up, man,” said the Virginian sharply. “Is 
that the truth?” 

And Vebbe, like a man in a trance, said : “It is the 
truth. He discovered it one day, and he used the 
knowledge against me.” The proud railroad presi- 
dent was a broken thing. 

“What was the arrangement he forced you to?” 

“I was to help him beat down the stock by spread- 
ing false reports and getting stockholders to sell. 
He was to buy all he could get. Then he was going 
to buy my block at a special price. That would give 
him control.” He shivered as if taken with a chill. 

“Have you handed over your stock yet?” It was 
the vital question, and each one there knew it.” 

“No,” breathed Vebbe, and a long sigh came from 
the Virginian. 

“Stanchfield has a syndicate that will take over 
your holdings at the price Granson was to pay you,” 
he said. “Of course, you’ll have to resign and leave 
the club.” 

Vebbe nodded, and they left him when the arrange- * 
ments had been completed. The three men, shaken 
by the pitiful scene they had witnessed, passed down 
in silence to the deserted cafe. On the way they 
passed the bulletin board, and Carter called their 
attention to the number of “Lost” notices of jewelry 


A SHARP RALLY 


243 


It held. “That’s how I got the tip,” he said. “From 
that and from his manner when I talked to him.” 

“What was it you saw through the window that 
night?” asked Ralph some minutes later. 

“I saw Vebbe cringing in an ecstasy of terror and 
Granson standing over him, threatening him as he 
might a dog,” said Carter. “I knew then that Gran- 
son must have some terrible hold upon him. It 
occurs to me,” he added grimly, “that if I ever have 
the opportunity I shall take great pleasure in evening 
Vebbe’s score with Granson.” The others nodded 
vigorously. 

“We might do something in that direction with the 
reorganized Slate Mountain,” suggested Stanchfield. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE 

A blurred flash of red shot against a brown cloud 
and a short, brass-throated shriek shattered the peace- 
ful burr of the motors. Without conscious nervous 
direction Carter whirled his wheel around with a pull 
that partly lifted him from his seat. There was a 
shock, something like an all-enwrapping electric bat- 
tery that seemed to touch every inch of his body — 
and he was floating away on the drift clouds of 
dreams. 

It was very pleasant, there in the upper spaces, 
where he seemed to have lost all gross weight, a 
dancing, irresponsible speck in the void. When he 
’began to feel himself drawn earthward with a return- 
ing sense of identity and pain he developed a vague 
resentment. And so it was that he looked out with 
extreme disfavor upon the world a few moments later 
when his eyes opened. It did not tend to improve his 
state of mind when he became aware that his view 
was somewhat imperfect owing to a rough rubber tire 
that pressed persistently upon the bridge of his nose. 

“Hello!” he remarked suddenly. 

244 


A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE 


245 


“Well, what of it?” answered a heavy voice some- 
where behind him. Carter blinked at the tire and 
reflected. There was certainly nothing “of it,” so far 
as he knew. Really, the question was quite imperti- 
nent. He had framed a precise answer to that effect 
when the voice broke out with a very matter-of-fact 
groan, followed by very earthly and common pro- 
fanity. Carter suddenly felt that his legs were aching 
dully. 

When he tried to move them they seemed to have 
lost the habit of obedience. Under the stimulus of 
the rapid and expressive monologue from the strange 
voice he cautiously tried his arms, one after the other. 
He was relieved to find that they moved. The tire 
annoyed him, and catching at it he shifted his head 
to one side. 

What he saw was a ground level vision of wreck- 
age — wreckage complete, disastrous and convincing. 
He could identify every fragment he saw as a former 
part of his new yellow racer, and he remembered, 
finally, that something had happened. He recalled 
that for half an hour he had been climbing a long, 
gradual ascent, that at the top he had thrown on 
high speed and that there had been a crash. He was 
unable to look behind him, where the voice con- 
tinued its stream of calm invective, unwavering and 
unchecked. Carter listened in grudging admiration. 

“That’s all very well,” he interrupted presently, 
“but I should appreciate it more if you’d kindly lift 
the edge of the tonneau off my legs.” 

“I will with pleasure,” came the answer, “if you’ll 


246 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

remove the whole blanked machine from my right 
shoulder.” 

“Our staying powers seem to be about equal,” 
observed the Virginian, still a little light headed. 

There was another period of silence. The stranger 
had pretermitted his lone commentary and was en- 
gaged in some kind of a scuffling struggle. Then a 
new voice intruded, a treble prattle, and a strange 
picture was presented to the prostrate and aston- 
ished Carter. A man moved into view, smeared, 
ragged, torn and dusty. One sleeve of a heavy au- 
tomobile coat and its adjoining half of garment 
flagged about him grotesquely. And in his left arm 
he carried the daintiest, brightest and happiest of 
mites, a baby girl not three years old. 

It was evident that the child had been in the acci- 
dent, but by some miracle she had escaped without 
a scratch or a wrinkled ruffle. Her little black vel- 
vet coat and coquettish hood were dusty but whole, 
and her pretty face, framed in curly wisps, bore no 
traces of fear or pain. She clung confidently about 
the man’s neck and laughed. 

“Where was she?” asked Carter, smiling. 

“On the grass about twenty feet away, chasing a 
green beetle,” returned the man with a grin. Carter 
did not recognize him, but he was staring hard at the 
Virginian. 

“Do I or do I not observe the battered but still 
heroic figure of R. Pendleton Carteret over there?” 
he said presently. 

“The same,” returned Carter, while the stranger set 


A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE 247 

the child on her feet and hauled him with some diffi- 
culty by one arm from under the wreck. “But you 
have the advantage of me.” 

“Johnson Van Ness. I’ve seen you at the Wampum 
Club. This is my daughter. We’re staying at a 
hotel up in the hills beyond.” 

“Ah!” commented Carter. He did not know the 
name. The two men inspected each other gravely, 
the Virginian sitting up in the road. He found that 
he was not able to stand, though his legs, beyond be- 
ing numb and paralyzed, appeared to have suffered no 
damage. Van Ness, it appeared, was in worse state 
with a sprained shoulder and a wrenched ankle. 

With a common impulse they looked at the ruined 
machines. The red car had turned turtle and lay with 
its four smashed wheels uplifted like ludicrous, mal- 
formed limbs. The body of the yellow racer had been 
stripped cleanly, and the chassis was toppled on its 
side, balanced on its left side and wheels. 

“Rather complete,” said Carter. 

“Not quite. To complete it two blamed fools 
ought to be awaiting burial instead of slow starvation. 
Do you know that we are up on the Blue Moun- 
tains, six miles one way from a town and two the other 
from my hotel ? And do you know that nobody comes 
this way once in twenty-four hours, or ever, if it can 
be helped?” 

Carter glanced at the little girl, who was playing 
with the top of a shattered brass lamp. “Then what 
shall we do?” 


248 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“Wait, I guess. Neither of us is good for the 
walk.” 

For answer Carter pointed to the sky. “We’re in 
for one of those pleasant soaking autumn rains into 
the bargain. Nice prospect, isn’t it ?” 

His manner was as light and casually friendly as 
it had been a moment before, but a new series of 
thoughts had started in his brain while the other was 
speaking. From the first the voice had faintly stirred 
some cord of memory, and the vague suggestions 
that vibrated with it through asssociation were not 
pleasant. Van Ness? He was certain that no Van 
Ness belonged to the Wampum. 

“That means camping out, I suppose,” said Van 
Ness, with a sudden frown of anxiety and impatience. 
“What a confounded ass you were to be speeding at 
that rate toward a turn!” He lifted the knuckle of 
his left hand against the corner of his mouth and 
gnawed his lip with the peculiar habitual gesture of 
some who wear mustaches. Again the cord stirred, 
and Carter watched him keenly. The other caught 
his eye for a second and lowered his hand awkwardly. 

“I imagine neither of us was over careful,” re- 
turned the Virginian easily. “This isn’t a part of 
the State where one would expect to meet a motorist 
at every corner.” 

The child ran to Van Ness with her shining frag- 
ment of brass. “ ’Oppy, ’oppy. Here’s a nice ’poon.” 
The man put her away rather roughly, but Carter 
caught her up and seated her on his lap. She was a 
friendly little soul, and the Virginian’s charm was 


A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE 


249 


potent with children. He took wondering interest in 
her “ ’poon” and won the tiny maid’s heart on the 
spot. 

“My like yon, ’oppy,” she announced, settling 
closer. Carter glanced up to find Van Ness frowning 
down at them and gnawing his lip again. 

“ ’Oppy?” queried the Virginian. 

“That’s what she calls every one,” said the other 
shortly. 

“What’s your name?” asked the Virginian, turning 
back to his conquest. 

“Marg’ret,” answered the child, nodding sagely. 

“Margaret — what?” But she only repeated the 
word. 

“See here,” Van Ness broke in suddenly. “My 
shoulder is giving me all kinds of trouble. I believe 
a bandage would make it more comfortable. See if 
you can help.” 

He knelt in the dust, and Carter, sending the girl to 
play with her “ ’poon,” tore the lining of the other’s 
coat into strips. From these he fashioned a service- 
able sling, binding and supporting the arm. He had 
full opportunity to note the stocky, muscular build of 
his companion, and somehow this, too, fitted into the 
dim feeling of a familiarity he bore for this man. 
After the rude operation was complete Van Ness 
caught the Virginian around the body with his sound 
arm and partly lifted, partly dragged him to the 
sloping bank at the side, where they were canopied 
by the thick growth of trees. 

It was nearly dusk, and the stranger set about 


250 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


collecting materials for a camp. From the wreck 
he dragged a spare coat of Carter’s and the other 
half of his own garment. Among the trees along 
the road he found a quantity of dry branches. The 
downpour was threatening before he had finished. 
He called the little girl to shelter and made her 
comfortable while he started the fire. The rain came 
presently, with slanting, slashing fury and a roll of 
thunder, one of the rare electric storms of late fall. 
It left them fairly well protected. Carter found some 
broken bits of cigars in his pocket, and the men lay 
about the fire and smoked. Margaret, warm and 
sleepy, did not seem to be afraid of the thunder or 
the occasional flicker of lightning. 

“How are your legs?” asked Van Ness after a 
time. 

“Bad. I can’t move them at all. I rather think 
the right one is fractured.” He nursed them ten- 
derly. It was a small deceit, for the numbness had 
been slowly passing, and although he felt sore all 
over he was sure that he could make shift to stand 
before long. 

“Buck up, R. Pendleton,” said Van Ness. “Society 
is not to lose its shapely mirror of fashion so easily. 
You’ll keep your shape, I’ll bet on that.” The rough 
mockery of the tone and words, the bold smile and 
the white line of teeth set the memory cord twanging 
once more. The man had dropped a corner of his 
yeil of refinement. And then, suddenly, Carter caught 
the note of that cord. Van Ness was the man of the 
rosewood cabinet, the captor of Prince Augustus, 


A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE 251 

t 

‘‘Mackintosh,” his old enemy ! Now he knew why he 
has missed a mustache. 

* He repressed the start and flash of recognition 
’ and met the sharp, smiling eyes of the other quietly, 

' though with quickened pulse. Van Ness watched 
the Virginian keenly for a moment, as if waiting 
i for some sign of aroused suspicion. Relighting his 
stub of cigar from a blazing twig with steady hand, 
Carter rearranged his covering carelessly. A whirl 
of possibilities raced through his mind, and. he sought 
to arrange them. 

The presence of Van Ness argued the progress of 
a crime. So much was fairly certain. As to what 
crime, Carter could only guess. He firmly believed 
that the little girl did not belong to the man. His 
manner when she began to tell her name aided that 
belief. The child’s very willingness to make friends 
and call any one “ ’Oppy” argued it. Margaret. 
Margaret what? And then a tingling thrill shot 
through him. 

The suggestion seemed incredible, mad, but it per- 
sisted. In the smoking-room of the Wampum weeks 
before he had heard a whispered rumor that the 
daughter of one of the most important and exclusive 
families in society’s inner circle had disappeared. The 
matter had been hushed up by the most strenuous 
efforts, had never been brought to the attention of 
the authorities, and was being handled by an army of 
private detectives, according to this rumor. It had 
passed the way of such reports without attracting 
notice. 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


252 

But Carter remembered now another fact among 
the thousand trifles that it was his business to store 
away. He recalled that the practical withdrawal of 
the Mandewells from participation in social affairs 
had occasioned much comment of late. The un- 
wonted phenomenon had knocked at his curiosity, and 
it had been strongly impressed upon him that George 
Mandeweil, and, indeed, all the family, rested under 
some sinister shadow. He brought before his mental 
vision Mandewell’s face as he had last seen it — 
drawn, haggard, sharply marked with the stamp of 
agony and suspense. And Mandeweil, as he knew, 
had a daughter Margaret, about three years old. 

He yawned, disposed his legs comfortably and 
stretched out under his coat. Van Ness, apparently 
satisfied w r ith his scrutiny, followed the example. The 
rain roared and guttered about them. Chill rivulets 
wandered down their sheltered slope. The close- 
grown spruces, once saturated, proved a leaky thatch. 
Pale flashes across the sky from time to time made 
the ensuing darkness almost tangible. The child had 
fallen asleep. 

“It’ll be worse if we let the fire go out,” said Van 
Ness. “Get some rest while you can. I’ll stand first 
watch.” Carter nodded, pillowed his head on his 
arm and gradually sank into heavy breathing. 

Van Ness, crouched at the opposite side of the fire, 
fed branches to the upleaping flame that snapped and 
hissed above the grumble of the storm. Often he 
glanced at the two sleepers. Once he felt solicitously 


A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE 


853 


of his bandaged arm. Then he dragged himself 
against a tree and fell into a doze. 

It was past midnight when he raised himself. Car- 
ter had not moved. Van Ness, with eyes alert, 
crawled slowly backward out of the circle of light into 
the black, dripping curtain beyond, still rent occa- 
sionally by a glimmer in the sky. Carter twisted in 
his sleep, but his eyes did not open. In the intervals 
of the gusts and the thunder a hollow, muffled clank 
of metal came from beyond, as if the little men of the 
mountain were at their anvils. 

The night gave up the figure of Van Ness again 
about two hours later. He was drenched and shiver- 
ing, and his face, washed of its stains, showed a white 
that the yellow firelight could not warm or quicken. 
The bandage was loose and displaced. As he came 
forward he thrust something that glittered into his 
hip pocket with an awkward left hand. He limped 
close and stood over Carter. The Virginian’s breath- 
ing, deep and even, did not check or falter. Van 
Ness did not arouse him, but heaped the fire high and 
lay down quietly in his fur coat. 

The first dull gray of morning had appeared along 
the strip of sky above the lowlands when Carter 
stirred. The thunder had receded, but still growled 
at times. He sat up cautiously and threw his cover- 
ing aside, watching the recumbent form of his com- 
panion. In the road he could make out the ragged 
outline of the wreck. On the side toward him lay 
the bulk of the overturned red car. It almost con- 
cealed the chassis of his own racer. He got to his 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


25* 

knees and then, with stiff movements, to his feet. 
Halting, racked with pain at every step, he descended 
the bank, using a stout branch as a cane. 

Passing the red car, he examined the remains of his 
machine closely. Hs assured himself, first of all, 
that the tires had survived without injury. The front 
wheel, resting on its side against the ground, was 
slightly buckled under. The hood was gone and the 
engines were a pile of jumbled scraps. From here 
back to the tail-light the chassis had been swept clean 
of its body and superstructure. It was a hopeless 
spectacle. 

Carter climbed around inside the heap. He found 
the crumpled bar that had once been the steering 
post still in place. Nothing was left of the steering 
wheel but two bent stubs. The gear rod and emer- 
gency brake handles were snapped short. Turning 
his attention to the set of the wreck itself, he gained 
confirmation of something he had not quite dared to 
expect, though he had half guessed it. Standing on 
its left side, the machine’s balance was not stable. 
The dip of the road toward the ditch threw much of 
the weight outward. 

With another glance at Van Ness he crawled under 
the chassis, braced himself and waited. A wan 
flicker of lightning shot the gray of morning with 
sickly green for an instant, and when the first rum- 
bling crash echoed through the hills he flung his 
strength forward. The machine gave, tottered and 
came down heavily, the live tires of the right side 
wheels taking the shock. The crippled racer was on 


A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE 255 

its feet once more. He tried the buckled left wheel 
and made certain that it would revolve. Then he 
found the extra tire in the ditch and unlaced the cord 
that bound the canvas cloth together. Concealing 
this, he returned to his coat and resumed his doze. 

The first rays of rising sun were sparkling along 
the road when the two men sat up to face their 
situation again. The child was still sleeping. The 
passing of the storm had left a cold, clear sky. Van 
Ness yawned and stretched. 

“Well, what for breakfast, R. Pendleton?” he 
asked cheerfully. “I confess to feeling hungry.” 

“We might find some beechnuts or chestnuts or 
something in the woods,” returned Carter dubiously. 
“I’m not very strong on that sort of thing.” 

“Let’s forage,” suggested Van Ness, standing up. 
“How are your legs now?” 

“No better.” 

“Never mind. It can’t be long now before some 
one happens along. Meanwhile, to bear out this up- 
to-date Robinson Crusoe stunt, I’ll do some explor- 
ing. Keep the fire going. Who knows but what I’ll 
come across a haunch of venison hung up by some 
merry fellows of the greenwood fraternity.” 

He marched off parallel with the road among the 
trees. Carter wondered at his high spirits. He 
seemed to have regained full confidence, and with it 
his polished side had come uppermost. Apparently 
he had no hesitation in leaving Carter at liberty to 
question the child. Quite as apparently he had no 
fear of the result when the some one he talked of 


256 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

should happen along. It was clear that he believed 
he had control of the situation. And Carter sus- 
pected that the reason lay in the glittering object 
he had brought from the wreck during the night. 
For the Virginian had witnessed his departure and 
his return. Probably his plan was to commandeer 
the vehicle of the first passerby. 

But it was time for action. When Van Ness had 
passed from sight Carter hurried out to his machine 
again. A troublesome part of his work was clearing 
the debris that strewed the road behind the racer, 
but it was accomplished finally, and he put his shoul- 
der to the crumpled front. Slowly the ruin yielded, 
moving backward an inch or two. He rested a mo- 
ment, then lurched at it again, struggling for a start. 
Once more it backed away, and he did not pause 
until he had pushed it clear. 

The jammed and twisted remains of the steer- 
ing apparatus would allow but little motion either 
way, and he did better in making his turn by wrench- 
ing the forward running gear about. The maneuver 
took some time, since it was necessary to push and 
back repeatedly. At length he had the machine 
around. Ahead of him, over the way he had come, 
lay the short level stretch on which he had worked 
up speed the day before. 

“ ’Oppy, take me.” 

The child had crawled from her warm nest and 
now stood with outstretched arms. He hastened 
to her with an anxious glance up the road. “My like 
you, ’Oppy,” she assured him again, as he picked her 


A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE 


257 


up. “My hung’y girl,” she went on, smiling bravely, 
but with the quiver of a little lip. 

“I know you’re hungry, dear,” he said gently. 
“But we’ll have nice breakfast pretty soon. Now 
won’t you tell me your name? Margaret — what? 
Margaret Mandewell?” 

“Yeth. Marg’ret Man’lel,” she answered decid- 
edly. 

He carried her to his shorn racer and made an- 
other nest for her on the splintered platform, com- 
forting her as best he could. Suddenly there came 
a shout from up the mountain-side, followed by the 
sounds of a body crashing down among the bushes. 
With his bit of cord the Virginian swiftly lashed a 
short, stout branch across the broken stubs of the 
steering wheel. Then, pushing at the rear, he strove 
for headway. It was a breathless moment. He could 
hear Van Ness approaching. The strange vehicle 
was desperately heavy and slow. With straining 
muscles he toiled. Inch by inch he urged his travesty 
of a machine along the stretch of road. Twice he had 
to pause to correct the direction. 

At the end of the short level stretch before him the 
long six-mile descent began with a gentle incline. He 
had reached the break of this first dip when Van Ness 
jumped into the road at the scene of the wreck with 
a startled cry. Carter, using every fraction of a sec- 
ond and every ounce of power, threw himself against 
the rear for a few steps, then sprang on and scram- 
bled to the makeshift steering bar. The slope was 
sufficient now to hold the slow advance, and by tug- 


258 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


ging at his handle he could correct the course. His 
improvised coaster was under way. 

Standing and looking back over his shoulder he saw 
Van Ness pounding along in pursuit with uneven gait. 
The man’s face was flushed and distorted with rage. 
The Virginian knew that if the other held to his pur- 
pose he would catch the machine before the sharper 
incline was reached. He prepared for handgrips, for 
in this decisive moment cold calculation as well as 
human impulse told him that the prize was worth the 
game. Margaret was playing with her “ ’poon” 
again, happy in the motion of the machine. 

Suddenly the pursuer, hampered by the pain of his 
shoulder and ankle or finding another way more con- 
genial to his temper, stopped short and dropped to 
one knee in the mud, not seventy feet away. The 
sun flashed keenly on steel. Carter caught up the 
child and bundled her in front of him where he could 
protect her. Van Ness was fumbling at his weapon 
with his left hand while he held it in his limp right. 

The last hundred yards of the first incline were 
covered by the lumbering, hamstrung car at a gradu- 
ally increasing pace, but it seemed to Carter as if a 
tugging dead weight was holding him back. Van 
Ness was still busy with his cartridges, without word 
or glance for the fugitives, intent solely upon filling 
the magazine. 

The machine seemed to pause at the top of the 
steeper slope that dipped away to a turn below. In 
that instant Carter sank to the flooring, crouching 


A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE 259 

over the litle girl and holding up a hand in impotent, 
horrified signal to Van Ness. He had not thought that 
the man really meant to fire, but the criminal was 
aiming steadily. The crack of the revolver rang 
sharply and there was a dull spat against the shat- 
tered base of the tonneau. Carter understood now. 
Van Ness was taking his chances of injuring the girl 
and counting upon either hitting Carter or forcing 
him, through fear for Margaret, to steer aside into 
the bank. It meant another decision, but Carter did 
not falter. He held on grimly. 

Another bullet whistled close above the Virginian. 
He could feel the pull of the dip, and he clutched the 
steering handle tighter. The child, frightened and 
uncomfortable, began to cry. Again and again the 
revolver rang out, one of the missiles clipping a hole 
in a battered mudguard. Then, furiously aware that 
his quarry was escaping and that he had made a tac- 
tical error, Van Ness stopped firing and, holding his 
last two shots, started on a run. 

But the disabled car, like a staggering thorough- 
bred set to the track for one more race, was gather- 
ing speed. Bumping and hammering, with a rough 
halt in every revolution of her wheels, she crept off 
down the hill. Within twenty feet Van Ness had 
ceased to gain, within the next twenty he was falling 
behind. Carter heard a last shout and two rapid re- 
ports. A moment later he was negotiating the last 
turn — and safety. 

It was a wild ride. The road ran over levels, 


260 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


slight rises and long descents with many a curve 
and twist. Always the jolting, protesting car in- 
creased its pace, and Carter, clinging to the rough 
guiding handle, swung precariously along the chang- 
ing course, dodging disaster at every corner. The 
voice of the tortured, wrecked machine was a gib- 
bering scream before it had covered a mile. There 
was a warning note in it, and Carter, confronted 
with this new danger, placed his heel on the broken 
stub of the emergency brake and thrust it forward. 
He feared the result, but the connecting rod was in- 
tact and the band bit gratefully, slackening the rush. 
He had time then to turn his attention to Margaret 
and soon had her smiling. 

On the last gentle stretch into the little lowland 
town from which he had driven the preceding after- 
noon the Virginian was conscious that the shock, the 
strain and the lack of food and sleep had found him 
out. There was a roaring in his ears, and his hands 
had become nerveless. The road ahead was a blurr. 
He leaned forward, weak and drowsy, while the racer 
ran limping on. 

Sharply a little cloud of figures broke from the 
bushes and formed in a line in front of him. Lev- 
eled rifles and a harsh command ordered him to stop. 
He recognized in the speaker a Pinkerton man fre- 
quently employed in difficult cases by the wealthy. 
Back of the detective he saw a drawn, haggard face, 
that of George Mandewell. He laughed hysterically, 
waved his hand — and fell fainting across the crazy 


A WAYSIDE ADVENTURE 


261 


structure of his machine. The last thing he remem- 
bered as he floated away on the drift clouds once 
more was the shrill, laughing cry, with a note in it 
he had not heard before : 

“ ’Oppy, ’oppy! Take me, ’oppy!” 


CHAPTER XVII 


A COUNT OR TWO 

When Carter saw him first he was executing a 
kind of elaborated breakdown about a lilac bush, with 
sundry wavings of the arms and incoherent murmur- 
ings. Carter watched him without approval. Ap- 
parently the exhibition was connected in some way 
with the celebration of obscure religious rites, and the 
Virginian was chary of interfering. It was none of 
his business if a strange gentleman chose an open 
portion of the Sluyt Long Island estate for the exer- 
cise of dervish dancing. 

But the matter that held him was that the man was 
young — young and handsome and well dressed, and, 
except as to his actions, conventionally sane in appear- 
ance. His neat checked riding suit sat well to his 
trim, tall figure. His breeches were impeccable. He 
had the lithe, weedy build of the horseman breed. For 
the rest he was fair and blond, and an upturned little 
yellow mustache gave him a rather distinguished air, 
or would have if he had stood still long enough. Hav- 
ing observed these facts with discerning eye, Carter 
decided to continue at the performance. 

But the ceremony did not try his patience, for it 
262 


A COUNT OR TWO 


263 


soon came to an abrupt close. The dancing gentle- 
man, with a final stamp or two, came to a dramatic 
halt, folded his arms with unnecssary violence, and 
remained motionless and erect, glaring at the Sluyt 
mansion, which raised its white stone terraces and 
gables and turrets some quarter of a mile away. 
This maneuver brought his gaze almost in line with 
Carter, whom presently he perceived. He broke his 
pose long enough to raise his riding cap perfunctorily 
but with perfect courtesy. 

“Good-morning.” 

There was enough of a foreign flavor in the gesture 
and the voice to confirm Carter in the impression 
that the dancing gentleman was no native eccentric. 
The Virginian returned the salutation gravely. 

“I trust I am not interrupting you,” he said. 

The other turned a very frank and clear-eyed smile 
upon him. Evidently his ecstasy or his fanatical 
elevation, or whatever it was, had deserted him. 

“Not at all. In fact, I was rather wishing that 
there was good company in the vicinity.” He ap- 
peared to be quite unconscious that there was any- 
thing unusual in his recent display. 

“Thanks,” said Carter guardedly. “Are you stay- 
ing with the Sluyts?” 

“The Sluyts? Ah, no, for example,” returned the 
other with a start and a grimace. For a moment 
the Virginian feared a relapse, but the smile broke 
through again. “And you?” 

“Moi, non plus,” said Carter at a venture. “I was 
riding along the road when I noticed you here. I 


264* THE SOCIETY WOLF 

thought It might be Herbert Classan. So I walked 
over.” 

The dancing gentleman produced a little curved 
gold case and presented a small card without affecta- 
tion. The Virginian, who was nothing if not adapta- 
ble, responded with a like formality. This is what 
he read on the stranger’s card : 

LOUIS FERNAND SAGRELLE DE PARADEUX 
Comte de Garenne et de Thibault. 

Having proceeded so far according to formula the 
two men spoiled the scene by exchanging an ordinary, 
plebeian handshake, quite lacking in unnatural angles. 
Carter found that he liked the chap immensely, apart 
from the fact of his title. Not that Carter had any 
objection to titles, but that he found the bearer of 
this one simple and straightforward. Meanwhile it 
contributed somewhat to his friendliness to know that 
the title was genuine. He had heard vaguely of De 
Garenne, though he could not exactly recall the con- 
nection. 

“I also have left my mount on the highway,” said 
his new acquaintance. “Are you on a particular 
mission?” 

“No, just riding. I’m staying with the Champneys, 
below here a bit.” 

“Ah, and I with the Mandewells. Shall we go on, 
then, together?” 

“If you are quite — er — through,” said Carter a 
trifle maliciously, glancing at the lilac bush. De 
Garenne laughed a sound, healthy, full-toned laugh. 


A COUNT OR TWO 


265 


“You should not hold my peculiarities against me. 
Come. We shall tear the cobwebs loose with a 
gallop — yes?” 

They tore several cobwebs and a fair number of 
miles loose during the afternoon. The Virginian, 
fully aware that it was very much to his advantage 
to cultivate the Count de Garenne, discovered that 
the operation meant none of the difficulties, the tor- 
tured repartees, the labored approaches which he was 
accustomed to negotiate at times. 

In a wide detour over roads and open country they 
improved their acquaintance rapidly. Carter found 
that the strange spectacle by the lilac bush had taken 
on, in retrospect, the semblance of a dream. The 
Count de Garenne was eminently sane, clear-minded 
and normal. Gradually a considerable curiosity 
gained him, and he held a question ready until he 
felt that their relations had become friendly enough 
to warrant its intrusion. 

“By the way, De Garenne,” he said when he found 
his opening, “do you mind telling me what you were 
doing when I met you, unless it’s some dread and 
sacred secret?” 

They had progressed almost in a circle and were 
approaching the Sluyt mansion again. While Carter 
was speaking they had rounded a turn that brought 
them within view of it once more. De Garenne 
frowned a little, but there was nothing morbid in his 
expression. 

“Why, if you care to know,” he began, and broke 
again into a smile. “It is in the race. You, most 


266 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


possibly, would swear and double the fist. I go 
through a motion here and another there. It is the 
impulse of my sentiment. You see, friend Carteret, I, 
standing there by the lilac bush, had a disappoint- 
ment, or, rather, I might say, a severe shock.” 

“Ah !” said Carter gravely. “I think I should inter- 
rupt you to say that I seek no confidence. After all, 
you know, we are hardly what you would call bosom 
friends.” 

“What then?” returned the Count with a shrug. 
“It is nothing but what is open to all if they care to 
know. I merely speak in reply to your natural ques- 
tion. I suppose you have heard at some time that I 
was once engaged to Miss Sluyt?” 

Carter remembered now that this was what he had 
tried to remember concerning De Garenne. During 
the preceding spring there had been formal announce- 
ment of a match between Sylvia Sluyt and the Count 
at Nice. About a month later it had been as formally 
canceled. The affair had occasioned the usual com- 
ment, but interested circles in New York had been de- 
prived of adequate material for gossip. The only com- 
ments he had heard were from Classan, and they had 
been bitter. But Classan was naturally prejudiced and 
jealous. 

“Believe me when I say,” continued De Garenne, 
w r ith some heat, “that it was no seeking of mine that 
I found myself near this house. I did not even 
know that she lived here. I was attracted by a late- 
flowering plant, and since there was no hedge or 


A COUNT OR TWO 267 

1 other barrier at this point I dismounted and walked 
! over to inspect it. 

“Then, while I was standing at the spot, I looked 
over,” his sweeping arm energetically indicated the 
lofty porte-cochere of the mansion. “Well. Perhaps 
you did not observe. I saw Miss Sluyt. She was 
mounting to her saddle, and a cavalier was assisting 
her. As you will readily agree, friend Carteret, there 
are ways and ways of offering such assistance. I 
would not have spied, you understand, but I had an 
excellent view of the manner in which this cavalier 
rendered his devoir.” 

Carter was sure that if they had been on foot at that 
moment the Count would have resumed his intricate 
breakdown. As it was, he grimaced violently. The 
Virginian smiled sympathetically. 

“I see,” he said. “Sylvia must have been starting 
out with Herbert Classan.” 

Remembering Classan’s temper, his fists and his 
prejudices, he thought it most fortunate for the Count 
that he had confined his emotions to waltzing around 
the lilac bush. 

The Count shrugged again. “It is a matter of 
indifference to me what his name may be. But this 
was where I saw for the first time. And it was hard, 
you know, friend Carteret. Um-m ! Well, I was 
very near to a scene, you understand.” At this junc- 
ture he raised his riding whip and cut the air viciously. 
His mount shied and supplied the dancing steps he 
obviously required. 


268 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“I suppose you know that Sylvia is engaged to 
Classan?” suggested Carter. 

“I know it now,” cried the Count, encouraging 
rather than suppressing the antics of his steed. “I tell 
you I saw — something that was like a thousand stings 
upon my brain. Ah-h ! I was very near ” 

“Hold on, there, old man !” called Carter warning- 
ly. “No need for dramatics after this interval.” 

The Count reined in his horse and rode soberly, 
his excitement fading to the open smile again. “You 
are right, of course. Still I shall — perhaps — at some 
later time ” 

There was nothing vicious about his half-expressed 
thought, but to the Virginian it held considerable 
significance. He was quite convinced that the Count 
was capable of making a scene, honest and sincere 
enough, but uncomfortable for the others concerned 
and probably quite painful for himself. He saw that 
the Count, once face to face with Classan, his suc- 
cessor, would precipitate trouble. Meanwhile, as the 
other seemed willing, he sought further information. 

“The termination of your engagement was — ah — 
very sudden, was it not?” 

But De Garenne had apparently reached the end of 
his confiding mood. He nodded and answered short- 
ly, if inoffensively. They paced on soberly in silence, 
while the Virginian adjusted himself to the change. 
If the Count could so easily share his intimate affairs 
on short acquaintance it was not to be wondered at 
if he as suddenly and unaccountably withdrew. Carter 
was not conscious of any diminution of regard for his 


A COUNT OR TWO 


269 

new confidant, however. He decided that he had 
brought it upon himself by too rudely checking the 
other’s extravagance. 

They had reached the further end of the level 
stretch of road which lay in front of the Sluyt place 
and were making a turn lined with elms that would 
take them out of sight of it. At that instant De 
Garenne turned in his saddle and looked back at 
the building. Carter, with eyes ahead, saw two figures 
riding toward them at a brisk trot. They were Her- 
bert Classan and Sylvia Sluyt. 

The whole situation flashed on Carter in a breath. 
The two parties must meet. He had had a glimpse 
of the purpose and nature of the Frenchman. Clas- 
san he knew even better. Herbert was a giant, 
heavy-handed, hard-muscled and not too tactful. Like 
many slow-witted men, he was quick to anger. Carter 
had seen him once or twice in wrath, as on the occa- 
sion in the Greenbough Country Club when he had 
cracked a German army officer’s skull with a billiard 
cue for being too clever at keeping his string. Carter 
could use a Count in his business, but not a Count with 
a broken head. 

A breath — and he raised his riding whip for a 
slash. 

The approaching couple looked up at the rattle 
and plunge of hoofs to see a man charging toward 
them through a cloud of dust. He was plainly a 
wretched rider and appeared to be in imminent dan- 
ger. He had lost one stirrup. With hands clutching 
the animal’s mane he held his seat awry. He came 


270 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


within an inch of being thrown before he reached 
them. They separated quickly to let the whirlwind 
pass, and Classan, wheeling deftly, clattered off in 
pursuit with a parting shout to the girl. 

The thing had happened with startling suddenness, 
and she stood staring over her shoulder after the 
galloping pair with her lips still formed on the phrase 
of quiet conversation that had occupied her but a 
second before. Then she caught the sound of hoofs 
again. She turned to the front. And there, with his 
horse thrown back gracefully, bowing low in his 
saddle, a gallant and handsome figure, was Louis 
Fernand Sagrelle de Paradeux, Count de Garenne et 
de Thibault. 

Carter had time to congratulate himself upon hav- 
ing taken out one of the best mounts in the Champ- 
ney stables while he was hurling the animal at full 
tilt down the road. Classan, he knew, was riding his 
famous black hunter, Rosemary, and the chase would 
have been all too short had the fugitive been any but 
Champney’s Thorneycroft. As it was, the wily Vir- 
ginian held his lead to a point far down the road 
where the road swept about a corner. Then, a safe 
half mile from Sylvia and the Count, he slackened 
the pace somewhat and regained partial control, while 
Classan drew in upon him. 

The pursuer had recognized the apparently helpless 
rider during the last hundred yards, and showed a 
very red and very angry face as he came within hail- 
ing distance. 

“Perhaps you think that’s a sporting trick, Car- 


A COUNT OR TWO 271 

teret,” he yelled. “Perhaps you expected to have all 
kinds of a laugh on the chap who went out of his 
way to help you. I’ve a mind to bash your wretched 
head.” 

Carter in simple fact had not regarded the situa- 
tion in this aspect. He required no diagram to see 
instantly that he had thrust himself into a difficult 
corner with the violent Classan. Meanwhile he con- 
tinued to sprawl in a picturesque attitude upon his 
mount, turning an occasional agonized glance behind 
him, as if bewildered with terror. 

“Aw, can it !” roared Classan delicately. “A lively 
chance you’ve got to make me believe he bolted with 
you. Just wait.” He spurred on Rosemary to close 
the gap, evidently with intent of bodily assault. But 
Carter’s plans did not contemplate a personal combat 
with the savage, rough-fisted young horseman. He 
checked his pace further, though evidently with great 
difficulty, and bawled his answer unsteadily, reeling 
from side to side : 

“Hey, Classan! Whaz a matter? Say, help a 
chap — can’t you?” 

The pursuer, thundering down with furious ex- 
pression and whip actually raised for a blow, dropped 
his arm and caught Thorneycroft’s bridle. A look of 
abject and ludicrous amazement spread upon his 
heavy face. 

“By the jumping Lord Harry!” he gasped. 
“Drunk as a fiddler. You chicken-brained idiot! 
Here, get off that horse before you break your con- 
founded neck!” 


T19, 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“Classan, Class-an,” stuttered Carter, rolling his 
eyes. “Thought I was a goner, sure.” 

“Get off,” snarled Classan, who had gradually 
brought the hunter to a halt. The Virginian shook 
his head solemnly and lurched to a dangerous angle 
as he strove unsuccessfully to regain his off stirrup. 
“Can’t — can’t be done, Classan. ’S — ’s not mine, 
really.” 

Classan called him an evil name and glared back 
along the road. Sylvia, apparently, had not followed 
them, but had gone on home. He shrugged re- 
signedly. 

“Well, what I ought to do is to throw you off and 
leave you in a hedge to sober up,” he growled. “But 
I suppose I’ll have to walk the floor with you. Heave 
ahead.” 

To the Virginian’s immense relief his companion 
chose to “walk the floor” further along the road 
instead of turning back, and his problem was simpli- 
fied. It consisted now in keeping up the impersona- 
tion, and in this he felt perfectly safe. He took the 
natural mummer’s delight in the game, and for the 
next hour Herbert Classan, wrathful, scornful and 
amused by turns, viewed as convincing an example of 
bibulous hilarity as Jan Steen himself could have 
wished. Carter was satisfied. He had saved his 
Count and earned Sylvia’s gratitude for preventing a 
scene. 

Late wanderers from a peaceful Long Island ham- 
let that afternoon reached their destinations with a 
tale of two horsemen, locked in brotherly embrace, 


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THE OTHER ALTERNATELY SWORE AND HELD HIS SUIT EN 

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A COUNT OR TWO 


273 


who paced the winding road toward the setting sun. 
One was raising a tuneful voice in ribald song, while 
the other, holding the singer upright in his saddle, 
alternately swore and held his sullen peace. 

As these horsemen, both undeniably sober, cantered 
down toward the Champney residence in the cool of 
the evening two other riders, a man and a woman, 
were parting on the drive of the Sluyt mansion some 
miles to the east. No roaming rustic had passed 
along that road since the time of the runaway, and 
in consequence there was no one to record that the 
second couple had taken exactly two hours and a half 
to cover the short strip between the elm-lined turn 
and the house. 

Carter salved his conscience with regard to the trick 
played upon Classan by having him around to the 
Brockston Country Club for an excellent dinner, an at- 
tention that completely won the beefy young man. 
Before they entered the dining-room Classan tele- 
phoned to the Sluyt home and talked with Sylvia. He 
came out of the booth grinning. 

“She gave me Ned for not coming straight back,” 
he announced to the interested Virginian, “but I 
squared myself by telling her I had to chase you into 
the next county.” 

“Ah! Did she return home?” 

“Sure. Went right on.” 

“All alone?” inquired Carter innocently. 

“Of course,” returned the other. 

“Ah!” said Carter. 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


274 

“I tell you, she’s a mighty fine girl,” said Classan, 
rubbing his hands with sudden effusiveness. 

“Very. You’re to be congratulated,” said Carter 
absently. 

They sat through the meal in perfect amity and the 
Virginian submitted to Classan’s fussy dictation in the 
matter of drinks without a murmur. Classan discov- 
ered that his companion was really a decent chap when 
not intoxicated. He meditated a particular favor. 

“I say, Carteret,” he said, “I think I’ll ride over 
and see her again to-night. Will you come?” 

And Carter, who had grown exceedingly curious, 
assented. The Count would surely be at a safe dis- 
tance by now. 

They galloped off together through the starlit coun- 
tryside in good time for a short visit at the Sluyts’, 
retracing part of their meandering path of the after- 
noon. Classan congratulated the other gruffly upon 
his quick recovery from a bad case, and the Virginian 
replied that that was one of his best points. Such was 
the extent of their conversation up to the time they 
reached the railroad crossing. To the left branched 
the road leading to the station a short distance away. 
The crossing was dimly lighted from four lamp-posts. 

As they started across the tracks two gleaming eyes 
shot around a curve in the road ahead and their horses 
pranced nervously. An automobile came snuffling at 
reduced speed toward them and bumped slowly over 
the rails. The riders drew a little to one side, holding 
in their mounts to let it pass. 


A COUNT OR TWO 


275 


“Say,” Classan exclaimed suddenly, “that’s one of 
the Sluyts’ cars. Maybe Sylvia’s there.” 

They pressed their horses nearer. Three figures 
were in the machine, one at the wheel and two in the 
tonneau. As the car came abreast of them they leaned 
forward and peered through the vague obscurity. In 
the faint glow from the crossing lamps they caught 
a brief vision. One of those in the tonneau w T as a 
man. The other was a girl. The man they could not 
see clearly, though Carter conceived instant suspicions 
as to his identity. But the girl was unmistakably 
Sylvia Sluyt. 

“Hello!” bellowed Classan. “Sylvia! Hold on a 
moment!” 

There was no possibility that she had not heard. 
But the automobile had passed them. It turned to 
the left with a crescendo grind of speed. “Well, I’m 
damned!” growled Classan, wheeling his horse. 
“What the devil does that mean? I’m going to have 
a look.” 

Pique and sharp jealousy spoke in his voice, and 
Carter remembered once more that he could use a 
whole Count, but not a part of one. He whirled as 
quickly as his companion and bore in closely at his 
right side. They were in the center of the crossing. 
Before the other could get his horse in hand, the 
Virginian pressed his right heel into the flank of his 
own mount. The nervous animal swung his quarters 
into the ribs of Classan’s horse. At the shock Clas- 
san’s horse shied violently, tumbling off the tracks 
into the ditch, which was strewn with loose stones. 


27 6 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


There the animal floundered an instant and went 
down with a crash. It was up almost at once, Classan 
standing at its head. He had not seen the rapid trick. 

“Here’s a mess!” he roared. . 

“What’s wrong?” asked Carter. 

“Slipped a stifle !” howled Classan. He led his 
useless, hobbling steed clear of the ditch and glared 
down the road at the departing bulk of the automo- 
bile. “By Heaven ! I don’t like it. I’m going to fol- 
low, anyway.” And he broke into a lumbering run. 

Carter, with one more reflection anent the possible 
value of a real, live Count, urged his mount into a 
gallop, and pelted on ahead after the automobile. It 
was his purpose to smuggle De Garenne out of danger 
if he had been right in his suspicion. As he ap- 
proached the station the evening train to the city 
pulled in. The automobile, its tonneau empty, was 
leaving the steps as he dashed up. 

Carter flung himself from the saddle, threw his 
bridle reins over the hitching rail and rushed through 
the station. Two figures were entering the first car 
of the train and turned at his shout. They were 
Sylvia Sluyt and the Count de Garenne. The Count 
was carrying a suit case. 

“Oh, Miss Sluyt,” called Carter anxiously as he 
hurried up, “Mr. Classan will be here in a moment.” 

“That is interesting, but not important,” said De 
Garenne, taking the answer upon him. They were 
both smiling. The Virginian stared. 

“If he does not hurry we shall not wait for him. 
We are going to Jersey City,” said the Count. 


A COUNT OR TWO 


m 


“Jersey City?” gasped Carter. 

“Yes. To be married. Will you wish us good 
fortune, friend Carteret? Believe me, I shall never, 
never forget what you have done for us.” 

He was shaking hands with them again, when the 
conductor gave warning and swung on the step, and 
the train jarred into motion. A moment later he 
turned, still bewildered, from staring after the van- 
ishing red lights to blunder into the breathless Classan. 

“Where — where is she?” demanded the newcomer. 

Carter placed both hands upon his shoulders and, 
facing him about, marched him through the station 
to the road. “Come on, my son,” he said. “We both, 
need a drink, and a real one this time.” 


CHAPTER XVIII 


A CLOSED DOOR 

The slamming of the outer door to his apartments 
sent a tiny shock through Carter, and he frowned un- 
pleasantly. He had been aware of late that trifles 
played upon his nerves like the jagged edge of a 
clumsy weapon. He promised himself an interview 
with Hopkins that should impress that obsequious 
functionary into cat-like regard for the quiet now so 
essential to his master. 

As he sat forward in his chair Hopkins drew back 
the hall curtains, but the outburst that the Virginian 
had prepared did not come. Hopkins, standing in 
respectful attitude, his silver card salver poised at 
the proper angle, was suddenly thrust aside without 
ceremony, and a smiling, debonair little figure swag- 
gered past him into the room. 

“Thousand pardons, Carteret, my good chap, but 
I never wait upon ceremony when calling upon a 
friend, y’ know.” 

Carter did not appear to be overwhelmed with 
enthusiasm at the implied honor. He rose, however, 
waved Hopkins away, and shook hands with a gesture 
278 


A CLOSED DOOR 279 

that, while not perfunctory, was far from indicating 
any warm regard for his visitor. 

“How are you, Detray? What on earth brought 
you here?” 

The* other laughed. “First of all, I’m dry. Any- 
thing* interesting in that cabinet over there? If so, 

! why not?” He had actually started to open the 
liquor closet himself. Carter, restraining his ex- 
asperation with considerable difficulty, hastened to 
forestall him, and his visitor subsided with a brandy 
and soda and his brazen smile into the corner of a 
divan. 

j The Virginian, conscious that he could not bring to 
the contest the strength and force that had once been 
his and that the last few months had sapped from 
j him, prepared to meet the ordeal under a reserve of 
dogged impassiveness. It was his best defense and 
now his only one. 

“Looking rather seedy, old chap,” giggled Detray. 
“Find the going pretty rough?” 

“I’m quite well, thanks,” answered Carter restrain- 
edly. 

Detray laughed, a queer little laugh with a jig-saw 
note, apparently inspired thereto by Carter’s hollow 
tone. “Well, it’s good to hear you say so.” 

Carter could see no end to this badinage, and with 
a total absence of the finesse upon which he had 
prided himself tried to hurry the game. “What is it, 
Reggie?” he asked defiantly. “What’s the use of 
stalling around? You haven’t come here to condole 


£80 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 

with me about a mortified toe or the state of my 
health. Now, fire ahead.” 

Detray became suddenly very solemn, innocently 
solemn, like a youthful owl. “As a matter of fact, I 
did have a purpose, Carteret. I often think this is 
a rotten world we live in, absolutely not worth the 
time we give it. But in spite of the truism that a 
decent action is altogether unfashionable, I invariably 
make it a custom to break the rule whenever I have 
the chance.” 

“Well?” said Carter. 

“It won’t do, Carteret,” went on Detray smoothly. 
“You’re not careful enough. Understand once more 
that I speak in friendship. Surely my presence here 
is proof of it. But you must be more careful if you 
expect to be recognized again by any one worth while. 
That’s flat.” 

“Come again, Reggie; you’re talking parables.” 
Carter’s words were easy, but they caught in his 
throat. 

“Why sidestep? It’s Mrs. Osterman,” said De- 
tray. 

“Well?” he said again hoarsely. 

“It is perfectly well known that you were infatu- 
ated with her before her marriage,” resumed Detray, 
sensing and, as it were, sipping the Virginian’s dis- 
tress. “These things get about. Lord can tell how ! 
It is even public property that you helped her out 
of a very delicate situation by suppressing certain 
blackmailers. For a time, of course, the marriage 
stopped gossip. But now •” He shrugged. 


A CLOSED DOOR 


281 


Something in Carter lashed him to speech. “What 
! now?” he said, grasping the arms of his chair. 

“Why, my dear fellow, you know better than I 
1 possibly can. Folks say that you have seen her 
! every day for a month. Osterman, meanwhile, has 
been at Hot Springs with a corps of physicians. You 
have accompanied her continually to places where 
people go, at unseasonable hours. You have been 

handling vast investments for her while ” He 

checked Carter’s violent gesture with a wave. “You 
should not be surprised. These things would not be 
known if you had not been indiscreet. And as a 
man of the world, you know what goes about when 
a man attends to a woman’s money for her. That 
means but one thing.” 

It was the hot iron against the hurt of the wounded 
wolf that hurled the Virginian across the interven- 
ing space to the divan. Raging, white, in raw revolt 
against this smiling, soft-voiced demon, he leaped 
with grasping hands. He caught Detray about the 
neck and sprang upon him, crushing his body under 
one knee with a wild, primitive joy in the feel of 
a prey. Social ambition, all that had seemed sweet- 
est to him through the years of struggle, seemed as 
naught now, though perhaps the conviction that he 
had lost his conquest served to spur his fury. But 
chiefly his mind ached under the blow that Detray 
had dealt him, as a man, and mostly he hungered 
for revenge upon this evil bit of flesh. His clutch 
tightened. 

Detray lay and smiled up at him. The fire had 


282 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


flared into a blaze behind the dull smoke of his eyes. 
Weak, helpless, with never a move to escape the 
hold of the stronger man, he showed no sign of 
fear, made no sign of resistance or appeal. Several 
times his lips parted as he essayed to speak, patiently, 
as one might strive against a temporary impediment. 
Carter looked down at that pink face, fascinated; 
saw it change to white and from white to blue with- 
out relaxing the band of muscle. The eyes, smolder- 
ing into his, grew dim. The mass beneath his knee 
became flaccid, yielding. Then the eyelids fell. 

With a terrible cry Carter released his hands and 
staggered back, staring at the silent, limp figure 
huddled up on the divan. Hopkins, trembling, hor- 
rified by the strange summons and the stranger sight 
that met his eyes, shuffled in and stood helplessly. 

“The brandy!” gasped Carter. “Quick!” 

With hurried, awkward movements, interfering 
and stumbling in their haste, they applied the re- 
storative. For a breathless minute they watched. 
Then, slowly, a faint flush came back to the pallid 
cheek and Carter breathed a laden sigh of abject 
thankfulness. He waved Hopkins from the room 
and fell, fainting, into his chair. 

They sat some time later and looked at each other, 
Carter with the expression of a condemned criminal, 
Detray without emotion of any kind. The silence 
lasted long, until the Virginian reached out a faltering 
arm and strove for a word, however pitiful and 
inadequate, to break the unbearable situation. Then 


A CLOSED DOOR 


283 


the extraordinary little man spoke, and Carter shiv- 
ered at the tone. 

“As I was about to observe,” he said, “that is 
the last thing, the thing that one cannot do.” He 
paused, but the Virginian made no move. Resolu- 
tion, courage, determination were qualities that he 
could well understand, for he was no stranger to 
them. But this was something that he could not 
even put a name to. He listened as passively as if 
the other had been reciting a prayer for the dead. 

“You see how it is,” went on Detray, loosening his 
wet collar with languid gesture. “There are many 
sins — to return to our plattest of platitudes — but 
there is only one unforgivable sin. And that is to be 
caught with the goods. Of course, in your private 
account with the recording angel you may well be 
quite guiltless. That does not alter the matter a jot. 
The vital point is whether folks are convinced thus 
and so in regard to your actions. If they are, you are 
done, unless you happen to be born among the demi- 
gods, and you, R. Pendleton, were not. Is that 
clear? 

“You are essentially a vulgarian, Carteret,” he 
purred. “It is a waste of time to sharpen epigrams 
upon your epidermis. Still, it was my pleasure and 
is to let you know where you stand.” 

Carter did not answer, and Detray stood looking 
at him a moment. Then the little man showed the 
strangest glimpse of his strange personality — a side, 
perhaps, that no one else had ever seen in him. He 
stepped forward quickly, holding out his hand and 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


284 

smiling his same brazen smile. “But, if you don’t 
mind, I’d like to thank you for a new sensation. 
With your aid I discovered a new savor of living 
when I almost ceased to live.” Carter, uncompre- 
hending, returned his clasp. When he glanced up 
from the daze into which he had fallen some min- 
utes later Detray w r as gone. 

In the bitter hour of reflection that came to him 
then he saw himself stripped of the plates of mail 
with which he had buckled himself during his long, 
wearing fight. 

He bore scars upon him, too, and these he marked 
— the old ones that had healed, and the newer ones, 
still sharp and gaping, that had fallen upon him dur- 
ing his last month of breathless, wearing combat. 
For he had fought, fought hard to hold what he had 
gained, fought against the leaping traitorous revolt 
in his own breast and the call of a woman. He had 
fought, and he had won. And to what purpose? 
Only to learn that victory was denied him, that he 
had been condemned and banished by judges who 
saw but the thick dust of conflict hanging about him 
and said that he had lost. And this was the end of 
his ambition! 

But there was a cooling draught ready to his lips. 
If he left this land under sentence he need not go 
alone or uncomforted. There was still one prize, one 
compensation that he could carry back with him to the 
lower levels, the outer darkness. He had handled her 
investments, Detray had said. Yes, that was true. 
And he had done well, with the shrewd knowledge he 


A CLOSED DOOR 


285 


had gained in his campaign. He had piled gold upon 
her gold, and she was wealthy in her own right. He 
had never permitted himself to read the full message 
in her eyes when he brought her more and still more. 
But now he remembered it and read it. He and she 
should take it for their journey back. 

He was standing in the dark room looking out 
into the lamplit canyon of the street when the sudden 
slamming of his outer door set every nerve in him 
to jangling. With a furious protest on his lips he 
strode to the switch and snapped it, waiting for the 
appearance of the obsequious Hopkins. He saw the 
man’s hand draw back the curtain, caught a pass- 
ing glimpse of his lowered head, and she stepped 
into the full flood of the light. 

The years of marriage had wrought small change 
in Marion Keith, now Mrs. Osterman. Slim, girl- 
ish, her clear, gray eyes had lost none of their clear- 
ness, the curve of her fair face none of its purity. 

“I thought it was time to come,” she said simply. 

“Does it help matters to say that?” he asked, just 
as he would have asked months ago when the first 
blow of the fray had fallen from his raised arm. 

“Robert, this is the end,” she answered firmly. 
“It is because I have never taken the initiative that 
you must bear with me now. Why should we be 
ordinary? Why should you and I talk like visored 
folk that are ashamed to show or to look upon the 
face of truth?” 

“Some there be that look upon it and die,” he said 
with a slow smile. 


28 6 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“And some that must look upon it to live,” she re- 
turned quickly. “I have always known, as you must 
have known, that this could not go on forever. I 
brought it all clear before myself to-day. And if I 
needed an emphasis of the result I received word to 
rejoin — Mr. — Osterman to-morrow. I shall not go 
to him. I shall never pass another day under the 
same roof with him. I cannot. It is all very plain.” 

A whim, a fancy, a shred of the torn banner under 
w r hich he had withstood all assaults from her and 
from her ally in his breast these last months sum- 
moned his weapon to a parry once more. He laughed 
a little wearily. 

“We have all the elements here, Marion. Lovers 
parted by unnecessary obstacle of a husband. She 
comes to his rooms alone, at night. Passion ripped 
to tatters. We lack nothing but the slow music. You 
spoke of common folk a moment ago. Can you find 
me a ranting dramatist of them all who hasn’t sea- 
soned that dish in every conceivable way?” 

She pleated little folds in her cloak and regarded 
him calmly. “I know you when you talk that way, 
Robert. I know. But it doesn’t make the slightest 
difference. It made no difference when you cleared 
the path for my mother by getting that letter back 
from Jerry Coskar. Nor when you cleared it again 
by preventing an interruption on my wedding night 
that would have made the wedding impossible. Nor 
many times since.” 

“Your mother?” he asked, twisting his blade once 
more. 



HERE WAS THE BALM , 


THE SOLACE AND THE LIFE 


Page 287 















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V 

































































































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A CLOSED DOOR 


287 


“Why do you fence with me?” she said with a 
faint flush. “I never hid it from you, even at the 
first. I was willing that the marriage should be pre- 
vented. It was my mother who wished it, and I 
have bitterly unwished it since. You were helping 
her.” 

“Is that all I was doing?” He leaned forward a 
little. 

“No,” she said slowly. “You were afraid to — to 
put your visor up. In cold fact, you would not per- 
mit yourself to look upon the truth. I had no for- 
tune. I could not have helped you in your climb- 
ing, and at that time nothing else was of importance.” 

It was his turn to flush. She was right. She knew 
him, had traced the thread of his motive through 
the maze he had woven about himself. And now she 
touched him on that tenderest masculine spot — his 
vanity. 

He strode to her and caught her in his arms. She 
yielded her lithe body to him as he kneeled beside 
her, clinging close, and signal spoke to signal in their 
eyes. Here was the balm and the solace and the life. 

He said it fiercely, while he sought her lips. 

“We will go away,” she murmured against his 
shoulder. “My little dowry that you tended so care- 
fully has grown to be more than enough for us. We 
will find a far corner somewhere.” 

“Yes.” 

“You have won your way where you wished to go 
and you have seen what it had to offer, and it was 
worthless.” 


288 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“Yes.” 

“And you have a shred of a backward thought for 
it because it was false and shallow and cruel.” 

“Yes, and cruel,” he repeated. He thought of the 
dark strife he had waged to no purpose; how the 
judges had judged him from the dust of battle; how 
he had been banished as a loser while still standing 
firm; how Reggie Detray had been the messenger of 
that defeat; how, because he was not one of the demi- 
gods, he must go back the way he had come. It was 
cruel. Let him take his prize and be gone. 

A tiny thought wisp obtruded, whirling through 
the undammed surge in his heart, through the sweep- 
ing demand for love and comfort and compensation 
and healing. It would be the surrender; it would 
be the final striking of the pennon he had held aloft. 
Even though the others might think him beaten, 
there remained his own knowledge that he was not. 
And to surrender now would be to justify 

Wait! There was more behind. He had thrown 
a disguising glamor upon the situation. But he 
knew, even in that mad moment, that the one whole 
spot in his ragged remnant of self-respect was the 
fact that this was a good fight and he had not yet 
lost it. He held the wisp fast and caught another. 
The reason for his desperate attack upon Detray 
had been because that remnant was more than dear 
to him — it was essential. Again, he caught another. 
If he had lost that remnant he would become just 
the low, cheap, despicable adventurer he had al- 


A CLOSED DOOR 289 

ways held himself above — the man who stole be- 
cause he was not wise enough to be honest. 

“I rather thought it might be this way,” she said 
with level eyes that met his proudly and even stead- 
ily. “But I wanted to make sure. We won’t carry 
on our little problem play, Robert. It ends here. 
Good-by.” He took her hand a moment. It was cold, 
and she withdrew it quickly. Afterward he went to 
the*window and saw her enter a taxicab, which turned 
and disappeared toward Fifth Avenue. 

Suddenly his outer door slammed with a crash. He 
started, frowning, and waited impatiently with his 
gaze on the curtains. Hopkins insinuated himself 
into the room with his card tray* and respectfully pre- 
sented a telegram. Carter tore it open and unfolded 
the yellow enclosure. This is what he read : 

“You win. Osterman died at Hot Springs this eve- 
ning. Congratulations. Reggie.” 

Carter returned the telegram to its original folds 
with great precision, replaced it in the envelope and 
put it carefully into his pocket. 


CHAPTER XIX 


A MEASURE OF SUCCESS 

Carter had started up the inclined gangway from 
the clubhouse float to the pier before he saw her. 
She had taken two steps down before she saw him. 
Eyes flashed against eyes in the parry of glances. 
She hesitated just the fraction of an instant, then 
swept on carelessly, with fixed interest in a motor- 
boat that was swooping toward the end of the land- 
ing. He kept his gaze, direct and challenging, upon 
her, but she was quite unaware of his presence. There 
was no hint of color in her face. 

She drew aside slightly against the handrail to let 
him pass. Until he reached her he was fully deter- 
mined to speak, a decision in wTich her pause con- 
firmed him. But when he turned toward her the cold 
calm of her cheek chilled his resolution and he climbed 
on without a word. And this was their first meeting 
since her widowhood. 

Of course, it was strictly none of Carter’s business 
that Mrs. Osterman should choose to leave the club- 
house float in Horace Quirk’s new motor-boat, nor 
that her one and only companion should be young 
Horace Quirk himself. But Carter, sitting on the 
290 


291 


A MEASURE OF SUCCESS 

veranda, became most unwisely attentive to the con- 
versation of Dorothea Pulsain, who had given him the 
benefit of her society, and followed the little scene at 
the water’s edge with engrossed attention. 

For a matter of months now he had been assidu- 
ously persistent in watching Mrs. Osterman from a 
distance, so the present phenomenon was not alto- 
gether remarkable. Certainly Miss Pulsain, though 
entertaining a distinct sensation of pique, found noth- 
ing extraordinary in it. 

“What a beautiful boat Horace has this year!” she 
observed, falling in abreast of his train of thought 
with dangerous ease and sweetness. He nodded ab- 
sently. 

“And do notice how delightfully careful he is in 
helping Marion aboard. Really, now, right out there 
on the dock! Did you see that?” Apparently, from 
his scowl and his sudden flush, he did. Certainly the 
manner in which the charming young widow accepted 
Quirk’s aid, as well as the manner in which it was 
offered, was not that of casual acquaintance. The fact 
that she looked distractingly dainty and girlish in her 
yachting costume after her months of mourning added 
considerably to the picture. Dorothea smiled. 

“Do you know, I never quite believed what every 
one’s been saying. But I do now. Don’t you?” 

“What?” growled Carter ungraciously. 

“Oh, what?” returned Dorothea innocently. “How 
should I know ? But there they are. And I must say 
that they make a very handsome and a very well- 
matched couple.” 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


“Dorothea,” said the Virginian suddenly, “your 
finesse is something to marvel at.” 

“So I’ve been told,” she said. “There they go. 
Dear me ! how gallant Horace looks at the wheel ! To 
think that I never noticed his really magnificent pres- 
ence before, and his taste, particularly in motor- 
boats. But it’s too late, isn’t it?” 

“Delicate as a war club,” commented Carter, but 
he winced none the less. 

“I wonder where they’re going to?” said Dorothea 
as they watched the craft shoot swiftly out, leaving a 
boiling wake of white. Something in the tone aroused 
Carter, and he looked at his companion suspiciously. 

“Well, where?” he asked sharply. 

“Goodness, how boorish you are !” 

Whereupon Carter read himself a brief lecture, for 
possibly the thousandth time, to the effect that it is 
never well to treat any woman with scant attention, 
no matter how unnecessary she may appear to be at 
any given moment. 

“Dorothea,” he said humbly. 

“Yes?” 

“Tell me.” 

“What?” 

“Will you have some chocolate and a baba au 
rhum?” he asked desperately. 

“Of course. How nice of you !” she said sweetly. 

It was half an hour of penance, but he endured it 
manfully, submitting to Dorothea’s sledge-hammer 
wit with good grace. At the end he triumphed, as he 
always could, even with Dorothea. 


A MEASURE OF SUCCESS 


293 


“They’ve gone to the Pine Point Inn for dinner,” 
said that young woman finally. “And much good may 
the information do you.” 

“Sometimes I could almost love you, Dorothea,” 
he murmured. 

“What’s that?” she asked hastily. 

“Nothing. There’s a dance at Pine Point to-night, 
isn’t there?” 

“Yes, there is, and I’m going, though I haven’t any 
one for escort but the Stuyver girls.” 

“Then if you had some one for the trip there you’d 
at least be fifty per cent, better off than you are in the 
present prospect. You could come back with the 
Stuyver girls just the same.” 

“Depends upon the some one. It might be minus 
fifty per cent.,” she answered promptly. 

“A shrewd hit; oh, a shrewd hit,” said Carter. 
“However, do you spurn the offer?” 

Dorothea might wield a heavy conversational fist, 
but she was not stupid nor was she ill natured. She 
considered the Virginian a moment quizzically. 
“What offer can you make for such a concession?” 
she asked. 

“Two more babas.” 

“Done,” she said; “but you’ll have to dance with 
me three times.” 

“Make it five. I mean dances, not babas.” 

“Oh-h-h !” The exclamation was accompanied with 
lifted brows and a look of deeper understanding. 

Further single-stick conflict was prevented by the 


294 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


entrance of Sam Pulsain, who greeted the Virginian 
joyously and threw his cap in the cake dish. 

“Say, Dolly, you’re going to Pine Point to-night, 
aren’t you?” he asked. 

“Thanks. You should have put in your applica- 
tion earlier, Sam.” 

“No, hang it, that isn’t what I meant. I find I 
can’t go myself. But I want you to ask Horace Quirk 
if he’ll tow that skiff back for me. He got away 
before I could see him.” 

“Of course I’ll ask him,” said Dorothea. “Or if 
I don’t Mr. Carteret will. Mr. Quick and he are 
such great friends!” 

Carter shook his head in silence at the speaker, ex- 
pressing awed admiration at this triumph of repartee. 

When the Virginian guided Miss Pulsain out into 
the circling measures of the first dance at the Pine 
Point that evening he felt that he might righteously 
congratulate himself. There were few prettier girls 
on the floor and certainly no better dancer than 
Dorothea. The crowd was very good, considering 
the place and the season, and he noted the Stanch- 
fields, the Gatz-Browns and the Mannards in the 
palm room. It was a yachting set, and most of them 
had evidently been out that afternoon, for informal 
garb prevailed. 

Meanwhile he was alert for a certain couple, and 
presently he sighted them, swinging in from the door- 
way. He tacked until he knew they were near, then 
maneuvered about them, keeping his back turned. 

“She’s looking remarkably well,” announced the 


A MEASURE OF SUCCESS 


295 


irrepressible Dorothea, while he held his relative posi- 
tion. “She’ll never speak to me again, though. Now 
to the right. That’s it. If you’ll reverse at this cor- 
ner we’ll be just behind them.” 

“Has she seen us?” asked Carter eagerly, accepting 
Dorothea’s aid willingly. “She wasn’t looking this 
way.” 

“Don’t worry. She’s already dissected me. I’m 
perfectly certain that my hair is down, my waist 
doesn’t fit, and I have a hole in my stocking. Now 
port your helm, captain.” 

“Ay, ay, madam,” said the Virginian. Each time 
he could bring his glance to bear he saw Mrs. Oster- 
man and Horace Quirk, both equally oblivious to his 
existence. He saw, too, with a pardonable vanity in 
small things, that Quirk was fully three inches shorter 
than himself, that he held his head forward and that 
he was a decidedly inferior dancer. With this much 
encouragement and with the continued assurances of 
Dorothea that Marion was watching them he felt em- 
boldened. 

No sapient commentator since the world began has 
ever compiled a list of the various ways of making 
love without including mention of love-making in a 
dance. Carter was as familiar with this item as he 
was with all the others, and he now proceeded to 
demonstrate. In so doing he was taking no advan- 
tage of Dorothea, who possibly was quite as adept as 
himself. He wooed her discreetly, with proper re- 
straint, but to the initiated unmistakably. It was 


296 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

largely a matter of eyes, and Dorothea understood at 
the first flash. 

“I don’t know whether you’re worth it, R. Pendle- 
ton,” she said pensively. 

“Worth what?” 

“My helping you any more.” 

“Please do,” he said. 

“But it’s such an old trick. Don’t you suppose she’ll 
guess ?” 

“I can’t help it. It’s the only chance I have left.” 

So Dorothea, good-natured, daring, whimsical 
Dorothea, lent her aid, and the sapient makers of 
lists could have learned something from the result. 

“You won’t need the other two,” said Dorothea, 
“and now I’ll bring joy and light to the hearts of 
yon desolated swains who have been trying to break 
through you all evening.” 

They were standing in the hall after the third 
dance, and out on the steps Carter caught a glimpse 
of a slim, cloaked figure that was just parting, with 
gay laughter, from old Gatz-Brown, who had im- 
prisoned one hand. 

“Good-by, Dorothea, you dear girl!” cried Carter, 
and he was off like a shot through the dance hall, 
through a maze of corridors to the outer wing, nearest 
the boat dock. He arrived on the landing breathless 
but with time to spare. A number of small craft lay 
moored at both sides, and out at the end he saw 
Quirk’s new motor-boat. 

He was ready for anything, violence if need be, and 
he began by buying the aged boat-keeper, body, soul 


A MEASURE OF SUCCESS 297 

and lantern, for a yellow-backed bill. Then he 
climbed into the motor-boat. “Just a joke on a 
friend, you understand?” he said to his new con- 
federate. 

“Yes, sir; all right, sir.” 

“Well, stand by with that lantern and obey orders. 
Turn your back to me.” 

Two figures, one in white, faintly seen in the thin 
stream of yellow rays, were stepping on to the shore- 
ward end of the landing. A fairly brisk wind was 
whipping down the shore, driving little slapping 
waves against the craft, and under cover of the sound 
and the darkness Carter started the engines. They 
ran quietly, with an oily purr, at low speed, while the 
launch tugged gently at her moorings. 

“Be ready with your lines,” warned the Virginian. 

He would have played the desperate buccaneer with 
great willingness, but the developments took easier 
shape. One of the figures, that in white, came on 
alone. The other paused, busied with something at 
the side of the dock. Carter, crouched behind the 
engines, clutching the speed lever, whispered a quick 
direction : 

“Help her in — help her in, you lunatic!” 

The boat-keeper obeyed, dropped down into the 
forward compartment of the craft and held out a 
hand. She came forward with some hesitation and 
stood for a moment on the edge of the landing, a 
radiant vision against the curtain of the night in the 
full glow of the lantern, skirts gathered daintily and 
peering down into the launch. While the Virginian 


298 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


held his breath he heard the slow approach of Quirk 
along the side. The steps had almost reached the 
motor-boat. Then Marion accepted the proffered 
aid of the boat-keeper and jumped lightly aboard. 

Instantly the man sprang to the landing. Carter 
stood up. 

“Cast off!” he roared. There was a quick scram- 
ble. The Virginian threw over his lever. The boat 
churned and lunged against her lines. The forward 
one was almost instantly released. As the boat- 
keeper caught at the other one there was a yell from 
Quirk and a frightened scream from Marion. Sud- 
denly freed, the launch crawled away from the land- 
ing, rapidly gaining speed. Carter, looking back as 
he started for the wheel, saw a strange scene on the 
landing in the wavering light of the lantern. Quirk 
gave the boat-keeper a violent push that sent him 
staggering, then he leaped violently from the dock, 
apparently in a mad and hopeless effort to reach the 
stern of the launch, which was fully fifteen feet away. 

Carter saw no more, for the craft was headed to- 
ward a jutting point. He hurried past Marion, who 
was huddled on the cushions, and gained the wheel. 
Once on a safe course he turned to her. It was too 
dark to read faces. Each was a blot in the gloom to 
the other. 

“Don’t be frightened, Marion,” he said. “You 
must have guessed it was I.” 

A little gasp came in answer, and she sat suddenly 
erect. Carter discovered, what he had not counted 


A MEASURE OF SUCCESS 2 99 

Upon, that the situation was somewhat embarrassing. 
But he advanced the attack. 

“I couldn’t help it, Marion. You have avoided 
me persistently, and I simply had to have a word with 
you. You must have known that I would not be con- 
tent, that I would find some such means as this. It 
was impossible that we should go on the way we 
were.” 

He moved a little closer on the cushions. But still 
she made no reply. “Won’t you say something? 
Won’t you say, at least, that you’ll listen to me?” 

“You seem to* have taken that quite out of my 
hands,” she said coldly. He had been waiting with 
sensitive ear for her first word. He could take little 
encouragement from the tone. He had hoped for 
some agitation. It -would have meant more to him. 
But here, after the first shock of surprise, she was 
quite self-possessed. He sensed some inner defense 
against him, a thing she had never made him feel 
before. He had planned no further than the over- 
coming of the protection that the presence of others 
furnished her. Quirk! Was it possible that, after 
all 

As pat as if the thought had been the cue there 
came a shout, not from the shore, but from close at 
hand, at the stern. Carter, startled, rose and scram- 
bled aft. A rift in the clouds flooded the scudding 
launch with moonlight, and close behind, lying flat in 
the bow of a small craft, with outstretched hand 
within a few feet of the low rail, was Quirk. For an 
instant Carter thought that his rival was pursuing in 


800 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


another launch. Then he saw a tow rope in Quirk’s 
hand and understood. It was Sam’s skill. Quirk had 
made it fast before the start from the landing, and 
had leaped into it as the motor-boat drew away. 

The Virginian fumbled in the tool locker and found 
a large* and heavy wrench. Then he climbed out on 
the overhang and waved it in close proximity to 
Quirk’s head. 

“Back up!” 

Quirk, who had nearly handed himself up the rope, 
glared at him until surprise mastered anger. “Good 
Lord! Is that Carteret?” 

“The same,” said Carter bluntly. 

I “Well, what is all this? Have you gone mad?” 

“Dangerously. I’ve come aboard for an uninter- 
rupted conversation w T ith Mrs. Osterman, and I’m 
going to have it. Now you drop away and be quiet, 
or I’ll try this on you. Nice hefty thing, a wrench.” 

There was no mistaking the sincerity of the voice, 
and Quirk, bewildered and spluttering, made haste to 
let out slack. Carter took up his position by the en- 
gine, where he could watch Quirk and talk to Marion. 
He found a little auxiliary steering knob against the 
gunwale, and he was thus in complete command. He 
was about to resume his conversation with Marion, 
who had been a silent observer of the incident, when 
there came a hail from Quirk. 

“Oh, Marion !” he called. “Don’t be afraid of the 
fellow. I am here.” 

But Carter would not even take the time to smile. 
“It’s no use, Marion,” he said earnestly. “You can- 


301 


A MEASURE OF SUCCESS 

rtot draw into a shell of reserve with me. We have 
been too frank. You know me, and once made me 
know myself. I was an adventurer. Yes. I could 
not take you as a girl without fortune. No. I aided 
your marriage. Yes. After all that and in spite of 
it all you acknowledged our love. Can you deny it 
now?” 

“I shall have him arrested immediately we land!” 
yelled Quirk valiantly. 

“You must have felt how near I was to forgetting 
everything the last time we met, when your husband, 
so far as we knew, was still alive,” pleaded Carter, 
with the old leaping flame in his heart. 

“Never fear, the fellow shall suffer for this!” 
howled Quirk. 

“You would not have had me otherwise, knowing 
me as you do,” went on Carter. “If I drew back it 
was the one thing that kept me from being quite 
worthless, quite the wretched, common soldier of for- 
tune. Let us stand straight to the problem. You are 
taking the pose that I seek reconciliation because, be- 
ing free once more, you have riches. Yes and no, 
Marion; yes and no. You understand. Am I not 
honest with you?” 

“If he is annoying you, jump overboard, Marion. 
I will pick you up,” came the shrill voice of Quirk. 

“Do you prefer that?” asked Carter, waving to- 
ward the skiff. What was wrong? She made no* 
answer. He was positive that by now he had suffi- 
ciently discredited Quirk. 


802 THE SOCIETY WOLF 

Then Carter staked his chance on a swift change of 
tactics, driven thereto by her unmoved silence. “Very 
well, Marion,” he said gravely. “I have made my 
one stand for happiness. I owed myself at least that. 
I will restore your vociferous friend to you and go. 
He is a fortunate man. There is nothing more to 
be said.” He turned away, but a slender hand caught 
his sleeve. 

“Do you wish to go back and dance some more — 
with Dorothea?” she asked tremulously, shyly. 

He laughed a laugh of sheer delight and content 
and caught her boldly in his arms. She surrendered 
herself to him with a little sigh. “So that was it?” 
he said. 

“He- shall suffer for his impudent audacity,” came 
the wail from Quirk. 

“Shall he?” whispered Carter. The answer was 
inarticulate. 

They were half a mile from the boatclub landing 
now and Carter left her a moment while he severed 
Quirk’s painter, greatly to the indignation and dismay 
of that young man. Then he turned the launch for a 
wide circle and sent it out swiftly into the perfect 
night, that they two might be alone in this their 
hour. 

It was over, the long campaign, the time of painful 
scaling of the social heights, the skirmishes, the am- 
buscades, the schemings, the partial triumphs and 
bitter defeats. Single-handed he had conquered field 
after field, captured fortress after fortress, where 


A MEASURE OF SUCCESS SOS 

the purple flag floats above the gilded ramparts of the 
elect. Now, with the reinforcement of Marion and 
the zinc millions, the citadel lay just before him. It 
would capitulate. The struggle was past. The rest 
was merrymaking. 

He looked back to the day when he had come to the 
great city, a poor boy from Virginia, with nothing 
but his good looks, his tact, his shrewdness and his 
premature knowledge of the world as capital. He 
had gone far since then. Scarcely any door was closed 
against him. He belonged to the most exclusive 
clubs. His private fortune was ample for his own 
needs. His clothes, his horses, his automobiles set the 
fashion. It needed but the charming wife and the 
millions to buttress his life position. And now he held 
them. 

Still wrapped in his dreams and his happiness, 
Carter finally drove the launch into the boatclub land- 
ing. The flaring electric reflector made the place as 
bright as a stage, and as he helped Marion upon it 
a figure swept out of the shadows. 

“Congratulations, you two!” 

It was Dorothea, the inimitable, the ever helpful, 
and she held out a hand to each. 

“Huh?” said Carter, blinking. 

“You don’t mean to say you haven’t asked her yet ?” 
exclaimed the subtle young woman. 

“Dorothea,” said Carter solemnly, “you surpass 
yourself. To pause a moment, Mr. Quirk is now row- 
ing your brother’s skiff in. I will ask you to present 


804 


THE SOCIETY WOLF 


him my best thanks for the use of his motor-boat. 
Marion and I have a train to catch.” 

“Oh, then you have asked her?” 

“No. As a matter of fact, I haven’t yet. But I 
will now. Watch me.” 


THE END 


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